


High Functioning A.I.

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Cyborgs, Drama & Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Post-Season/Series 03, futuristic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, only one in the world...unique in many ways, even for the technological advancements of 2081. He’s the very best at what he does and he knows why. Only a select few are allowed that same knowledge, including one specialist by the name of Molly Hooper. But secrets are not always what they seem, and Sherlock is about to go on quite an unexpected journey of self discovery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/gifts).



> Ok so...I hardly know how I got THIS deep into this au THIS fast lol. I brought up the general idea to Lexie and we just took off with it hard core! Buckle up for lots of fun parallels and tie ins with the show’s canon. Though, not sticking completely to canon of course. Cuz honestly, where’s the fun in that? :)

Molly swiveled her chair around, reaching up and swiping her hand downward to open up the computer screen. She hit a couple buttons, bringing up the camera, and then hit record.

“Tenth of January, two thousand eighty one,” she began, shuffling through some of the files on her tablet as she spoke. “Gosh what a day...busy day.”

She first rattled off some of the events at the morgue, the latest workplace politics and the gossip, but then paused and chewing her lip before looking into the camera again.

“He was in for a while today. Working, of course. I have to admit I always look forward to it. He’s um...he’s just really something. I love just seeing his mind go. Faster than any of ours do of course.” She tucked some hair behind her ears.

“It’s funny, he’s got a mind that most people can only dream of...but he’s never really satisfied. I think he always believes he can be somehow better. Lately he keeps asking me for new and different parts. When I have the time I do the work for him of course. He’s certainly not shy about pushing into my schedule! Sometimes I think he gets impatient and does it himself though.”

She stopped, leaning down almost out of the camera’s view to scratch Toby, who wound around the legs of her desk chair and yowled softly.

“He’s just...he’s so perfect,” she added, sitting upright again, then laughed at herself. “That sounds silly, I know. I sound like some...stupid little girl.”

She sighed deeply. “And I feel like I have to remind myself of that everyday, ever since all this started.”

Toby jumped up on her lap, likely sensing her frustration.

“I know I shouldn’t be disappointed. From the beginning, I knew who he was- what he was. So I dunno what I ever expected. Though there were times I thought I saw little things come through, in small ways in the seven years since I’ve been his ‘doctor’. The night he confronted Moriarty, I was so sure some of his emotions were working properly, considering he was so willing to expose his secret to everyone by taking that risk. The world nearly found out that the great Sherlock Holmes was Artificial Intelligence. At least, that’s what he assumed people would learn...”

Toby purred and Molly smiled despite herself. “ _High functioning artificial intelligence_. That’s what he calls himself, you know that, Toby?” She sighed again. “Sometimes I wish I could tell him I know him better than he thinks. Even better than he knows himself, in a lot of ways. You think he’d even believe me?”

No, she knew he wouldn’t. It would never occur to him that he was anything more than what he’d always believed- a machine. Granted, the most advanced technology available to mankind. But still...just a machine.

“Doesn’t matter what he believes. He’ll always be so much more to me than he is to himself,” Molly stated softly to the camera.

Toby yowled as the scratching behind his ears slowed.

“Gosh, you’re right, I’m getting far too serious, aren’t I? This vlog is supposed to be a bit of fun and I’m really ruining that with tonight’s entry...not that anyone else ever sees these.”

She smiled to herself. Yes that’s right, nobody else sees these. So she supposed she should be able to say whatever she’d like. No holding back.

“The thing is that I just- I love him,” she said, looking straight into the camera, shrugging in surrender to that simple truth. “I think I always will, no matter what happens. And there are a lot of time I almost wish I could tell him...just to see what he’d-“

Molly abruptly turned away from the screen to grab her mobile that was chiming on the other end of the desk.

HI MOLLY. SOMETHING JUST CAME UP. WOULD YOU BE ABLE TO POP OVER RIGHT NOW AND WATCH ROSIE? -JW

SURE, I’M NOT DOING MUCH ELSE. I CAN BE THERE IN ABOUT TWENTY. -MH

GREAT, THANKS SO MUCH. -JW

SHOULD I PLAN TO PUT HER TO BED? -MH

PROBABLY NOT. WE AREN’T GOING FAR SO SHOULDN’T BE GONE TOO LONG. MAYBE AN HOUR OR TWO. -JW

OH OK, SOUNDS GOOD. -MH

RUNNING OVER TO MEET UP WITH SHERLOCK FOR HIS CASE. WE’LL BE AT THE AQUARIUM. -JW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure you have questions. :D Well the answers are certainly coming. I’m intending for this to be a moderate size multi chapter though, so I’m not going to explain everything super fast. You’ll just have to stick around and keep on reading. Hit me with your thoughts! ;D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just so fun, I couldn’t resist writing the next chapter already lol. Enjoy the first taste of sherlolly interactions in this chapter! ;)

Sherlock Holmes settled into the back of a cab, requesting the address of Bart’s hospital as he took out his mobile.

I ASSUME YOU’RE AT THE HOSPITAL SINCE ROSIE IS WITH MRS HUDSON. -SH

I AM, YES. IN THE LAB. -MH

GOOD. I’LL BE THERE IN TEN. -SH

He set his phone back in his pocket, not particularly caring whether Molly asked why. Either way he was headed there and absolutely had to speak with her.

He had to do something useful. And more than that, he absolutely had to find a way to process all of it. Every time he went over it he simply couldn’t make any sense of it. The continued effort just kept causing him to overheat.

He’d worked himself up again by the time he was at Bart’s, his fingers rebelliously twitching at his side as he rode the elevator to the floor with the lab. 

Yet another occasional glitch. He seemed absolutely packed full of them these days.

Molly turned and smiled as he finally flew into the lab.

“Sherlock, hi, I was so sorry when I-“

“Yes yes, you can dispense with the formalities of sympathy as it’s obviously not necessary in my case,” he quickly shot back. “I am here to attempt to do something useful.”

She frowned a little. “Useful?”

“Yes!” Sherlock snapped. “All we need to do now is figure out how we’re going to fix Mary!”

Molly stared back at him blankly. “F-fix her- Sherlock, I’m not sure we can.”

“She is currently alive, isn’t she?”

“Well...yes.”

“Good then, surely that offers some options,” he stated confidently.

She sighed. “I’m not exactly- I mean, she’s not my patient, Sherlock. I can’t exactly barge into the ICU and swipe her chart.”

“It’s been nearly twenty four hours and  _ they’re _ certainly not fixing her. The best they’ve done upstairs is to put her into a medically induced coma,” Sherlock countered. “John would want a specialist’s opinion. Perhaps an alternative form of repair if standard surgery isn’t sufficient. Who better to consult about cybernetic repair than you?”

“John wants this?”

“I can only assume he would. Though I haven’t spoken to him.”

Molly licked her lips, seeming hesitant. “You haven’t spoken to him...at all?”

Sherlock paused, shifting his gaze momentarily. “He’d prefer not at the moment.”

She nodded, obviously understanding the deeper meaning behind that statement.

Sherlock sighed loudly, almost more of a growl.

“I’m chronically overheating again, Molly! The pressure in my head is nearly unbearable! Can’t you  _ do something _ ?!”

Molly glanced nervously at the interns at the other end of the lab who were beginning to take notice.  

“Right, come on, let’s go somewhere else,” she said, pulling her gloves off and hurrying over to take Sherlock by the arm.

She ushered him out of the lab and to a nearby phlebotomy room, sitting him down and pulling up a chair behind him. 

“That was a little reckless, don’t you think?” Molly chided. “You can’t go barking out complaints about  _ overheating _ when other people are nearby!”

“Pff, those dull minded interns aren’t likely to catch on so easily,” Sherlock replied dismissively, shrugging off his jacket tossing it over the hook on the door before making quick work of his shirt buttons. He pulled the fabric back off his shoulders, exposing the main control panel located between the top of his shoulder blades. 

“Still unwise,” she argued back. “You know how most people still feel about A.I. Hard to say if you’d ever get cases again. And I can’t imagine Lestrade continuing to consult you on police business!”

Best to drop it. She never tended to back down on that particular subject, he thought while feeling the painless little pop as Molly gently pried open the control panel, one hand resting on his shoulder as she did. He swallowed thickly vaguely feeling her begin to do something in there.

“Stupid place for controls,” he muttered.

“Hm?”

“Why put my controls all the way back there where I can’t possibly reach?” He sighed in irritation.

He could hear the slight smile on her lips as she replied.

“Ever consider you’re not supposed to be fiddling around in there yourself?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, pouting stubbornly. 

“I’d be more than capable of performing my own maintenance, thank you. What’s the use of technology as advanced as I am if I can’t take care of myself?”

Sherlock jumped slightly as he finished speaking, feeling her gently blowing on the back of his neck, obviously into the control panel.

“I don’t like it when you do that,” he complained, a slight hitch in his voice.

“You were right, your temperature reading is a touch high. This is an easy way to bring it down, so just try to relax,” she explained calmly.

It really unsettled him. The way his skin rippled with tiny bumps and a shiver traveled down his spine with the touch of her breath. Sometimes it happened just with the contact of her hands. 

What exactly was the useful function of technology that complex? It was more of a nuisance than anything else.

Molly worked quietly for a while until Sherlock once again broke the silence. “Why would she do it?” 

“What?” Molly questioned.

He wasn’t fully sure why he even voiced the question. It was done and couldn’t be undone, and therefore questioning was rather pointless. And yet…

“She’s a woman, with a husband and a child who need her. Why would she take a bullet for me?”

Molly very obviously paused before resuming blowing a bit more cool air.

“You’re her friend,” she replied softly.

“But I’m a machine,” Sherlock stated more firmly, turning a bit toward his shoulder. “I could more easily be repaired. She is a living, breathing woman!”

“Machines can’t always be repaired, Sherlock.”

“Neither can humans. There is no comparison,” he insisted. “It’s not a logical sacrifice.”

“Not really about logic, is it?” He felt her sigh. “It’s about what she thought she had to do in that one tiny moment. And I’m...not completely sorry that she did.”

Sherlock shook his head lightly, not at all satisfied by that explanation. It was wrong, all of it. He’d shut himself down right then and there if it would undo what Mary did. That would make far more sense.

“How are you now?” Molly asked gently, placing a hand on his shoulder again and leaning in a little closer behind him. 

“Better, I suppose,” he admitted.

“Good.”

He felt her flip the cover closed, clicking it securely, and he quickly responded by pulling his shirt back up in place. 

They both stood, Sherlock as he buttoned his shirt and Molly as she stuck the mini box of tools safely back in her pocket. She looked at him seriously as he finished up and grabbed his jacket.

“I can tell you’ve been trying to reach in there yourself...stop that.”

Sherlock turned away to pull his jacket up.

“I mean it, Sherlock,” she insisted, tugging on his sleeve to make him face her again. “The last thing you need is to cause some sort of permanent damage. What if I can’t fix it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied with a smirk, opening the door. “You can always fix it.”

He stalked briskly out of the room and down the hospital hall, calling out behind him, “I insist you have a look at Mary’s files!”

* * *

Sherlock exited the lift, walking down the hallway toward the double door that granted entry to the ICU. He’d need a key card to get in, or permission from the family...neither of which he had. So he peered in, glancing through the windows down the hallway, seeing if he could manage any bit of information, perhaps find a way to figure out which cybernetic nurse had been assigned to the room and see about getting an interface going.

“Somehow I imagined I’d find you here.”

Sherlock turned, disappointed to see his brother approaching. 

It was a habit, mostly, using such a close familial term to describe Mycroft Holmes. He hadn’t really any desire to see him as a brother, or Mycroft’s parents as his own. But apparently that was the purpose for which he was purchased. 

_ “We lost a sibling of mine many years ago. A dreadful time for the family, you understand. Call this an unusual sort of...replacement. Once I knew of the existence of this technology, you being the one and only product of such, I couldn’t possibly pass up the opportunity. You’ll fill a necessary role, though will certainly be able to have your own life as well. Welcome to the family.” _

That was how it had been put to him some seven years ago when he was activated. Yes it certainly was unusual, but that was his life.

“What do you want, Mycroft,” he questioned flatly, having no desire to rehash the events of the day before. After many events in his brief existence, Mycroft would insist on a process of “debriefing,” which was supremely tiresome.

“What’s to be done for her?”

Sherlock turned to look at him, a bit taken aback at the question. 

“The doctors haven’t a definite plan from what I’ve gathered. The internal damage is...significant.”

“I wonder,” Mycroft began slowly. “Has Dr. Hooper been informed?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “I have just been to see her. I was of the opinion that she could perhaps offer the option of some sort of-“

“Cybernetic repairs, yes,” Mycroft agreed instantly, taking out his phone. “You know that tech isn’t fully licensed yet,  _ brother mine _ . But I shall see that she’s immediately given direct involvement in Mrs. Watson’s case.”

Sherlock looked away, somewhat surprised by this action taken by his brother. He hadn’t assumed Mycroft would take such an active role in this issue. And to automatically think of involving Molly...interesting.

Sherlock turned to go, deciding to take his leave and return to Baker St, since he’d accomplished what he went there to do. Though, he paused before walking away.

“Mycroft? I believe it would be wise if you leave me out of the discussion, should you voice this option to John Watson. It may improve the chances that he’ll agree.”

Mycroft raised a brow then nodded in understanding.

Sherlock walked back to the lifts, wanting to return to Baker Street as quickly as possible. It was time to use his mind for something else.

He needed a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably won’t get another update posted quite this speedily next time. Perhaps in a few days though. Hope you’re enjoying this so far! Lots more to come! :D
> 
> PS- Haven’t directly thanked her on here yet, but Lexie is kind enough to beta read for this fic. Always super helpful! Fic planner and editor extraordinaire!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly am taking s4 and chopping it up in little pieces and using whatever I like however I like lol. If this isn’t what fanfic is all about, Idk what is. XD

Molly had just gotten comfortable: just settled in at home after her shift, put on her loungewear, made a cuppa, and deposited herself in her cushy chair by the fire with a new book. 

So of course her mobile lit up at that moment. 

YOUR SCHEDULE HAS BEEN CLEARED FOR THE COMING WEEK. YOUR FIRST PRIORITY IS NOW MRS. WATSON. DR. WATSON HAS CONSENTED TO ALTERNATIVE TREATMENT OPTIONS, CONSIDERING MAINSTREAM MEDICINE MERELY DEEMS IT A MATTER OF TIME. -MYCROFT H

Molly stared at the screen. It had actually been a little while since Mycroft Holmes had reached out to her directly. She almost replied, “I’m doing just ducky, thanks! And you?” But instead she swallowed her personal feelings. This particular communication was hardly about her.

WHEN AM I MEANT TO START? -MH

YOU SHOULD HAVE ALREADY, BUT I HAD TO MAKE SURE THE NECESSARY PAPERWORK WENT THROUGH. AS YOU CAN IMAGINE, WE’RE WORKING AGAINST THE CLOCK. -MYCROFT H

Her head fell back against the chair, sparing a moment to pout selfishly at the loss of her free time for the foreseeable future before immediately feeling guilty. Of course she wanted to do nothing more than help her friend out of this horrible situation.

I’LL HEAD BACK TO BART’S IN JUST A FEW. -MH

I’LL ENSURE YOU’RE PROPERLY COMPENSATED FOR THE EXTRA EFFORT AND OVERTIME. -MYCROFT H

Once again she fought the urge to make a snide remark. That’s not what it was about for her. That’s not what it’s ever been about. It seemed to her that Mycroft Holmes often didn’t know how to measure value in any way aside from monetarily. 

Naturally, the whole exchange took her mind back to memories from many years past...

_ “It’s workable, it is,” she stated, conviction running deep, following after him into the hallway. _

_ Mycroft turned, facing her sternly. “It isn’t. Not for him.” _

_ Molly’s expression hardened, feeling suddenly defensive...protective. _

_ “For him? Or for  _ **_you_ ** _?” _

_ By the look in his eyes, she’d hit a nerve. _

_ “This isn’t your decision. None of this is,” he reminded- warned her sternly. “To be perfectly frank, I’ve had quite enough of your unsolicited input on this project. You are simply here to do the job which you are being paid for. And this job will be done my way or it won’t be done at all.” _

_ She let out a short laugh. “Well that’s not quite true. It has to be done now, one way or the-“ _

_ “I fear you understand my seriousness, Dr. Hooper,” he interrupted. “Allow me to repeat myself, and do be sure to take my wording literally this time.  _ **_My way_ ** _ or it won’t be done  _ **_at all_ ** _.” _

_ She stared back at him, unable to miss the rather disturbing meaning behind his words. It was becoming disturbingly evident that she hadn’t much choice but to comply. She took a breath, proceeding with caution. _

_ “Then it would have to be your way I suppose,” she replied meekly. _

_ Mycroft glared for a moment more, perhaps to further guarantee her obedience.  _

_ “Good. Get it done then. Notify me when the final phase can be attempted once more.” _

_ Molly watched him walk away, staying put till he was completely out of sight. When she could no longer see him or hear his steady footsteps, she finally turned, pushing back through the double doors to stand in the recently silenced room. _

_ She walked slowly forward, approaching the figure on the table as if it were the first time. She felt a bit like it was. With a renewed sense of wonder and purpose, she reached out, laying her hand over his and speaking in an unsteady whisper. _

_ “You’re not alone ok? You have me.” She squeezed her fingers around his. “You can always have me.” _

...Molly pushed herself out of her beloved chair by the fire, pulling her shoulder length hair half up and out of the way as she threw off her robe and strolled down the hall to her room. 

“I’m not doing this for the money, Mycroft. And certainly not because you asked,” she muttered to herself, fetching clothes from her wardrobe. “I’m doing it for Mary...and for Sherlock.”

* * *

“Hoo-hoo,” Mrs. Hudson chirped, while approaching Sherlock’s partially open door.

“Yes, what?” Sherlock barked. “I’m processing!”

“Client,” she stated with a little point behind her. “Shall I send her in?”

Sherlock swung his legs over the side of the couch, propelling himself to sit upright. 

“Yes yes, send her in,” he agreed with the flip of his hand. “Better be interesting.”

A young woman entered as Mrs. Hudson stepped aside and took her leave, Rosie on her hip lightly fussing.

“Evening, Mr Holmes. I’m Harriet Thorson, I appreciate you taking the time to see me.” she greeted politely. “Shall I just...”

Sherlock moved from the couch, gesturing to the chair between his and John’s in answer. She took a seat along with him.

“Talk,” he commanded. 

She cleared her throat nervously. “I um, I’m a bit desperate, you see. My brother Bobby is missing. He’s been missing for months now.”

“I assume you’ve informed the authorities.”

“Of course, yes. My family and I did right away. But they’ve come up completely empty handed. We’ve gotten absolutely nowhere.” Her chin quivered slightly. “Besides, I don’t think they’ve ever put proper priority on his case. You see...he’s a cyborg.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped over to meet her desperate blue ones. 

“He became awfully self conscious and rather self destructive ever since he had cybertronic legs installed last year due to being in a dreadful explosion. He was twenty at the time. The surgery gave him his life back but...somehow managed to ruin it as well. He fell in with a rough crowd. Mr. Holmes, I’m convinced he was taken into some sort of a cyborg black market.”

Sherlock stood and paced slowly around where she sat, forcing her to turn frequently.

“There is little known about the cyborg black market,” he stated thoughtfully. “It’s largely untouched.”

“Exactly. Nobody wants to even try and get involved! It’s dangerous, and frankly I don’t think anybody cares enough to take the risk. Not for those who are  _ different _ .”

He stopped pacing and looked down at her. “I’ll take the case.”

Her face instantly lit up.

“Don’t be so thrilled quite yet. What have you got?”

“I’ve heard about you, and I can imagine this is plenty for you to go on.” She reached in her tote, pulling out a slim black tablet. “This is my brother’s. Everything is accessible. Email, files, pictures, contacts, surely anything you’d need to know about him and who he was connected with before going missing.”

Sherlock took the tablet from her, scanning it briefly, confirming that it wasn’t some sort of fake. Then he looked back at her.

“As with the case of any missing person, I can almost guarantee that I will find you answers. What I cannot guarantee is that you’ll like them.”

The young woman nodded solemnly. “I understand. But you see, sometimes the truth simply has to be faced head on. If not, how can we ever move forward?”

When he made no reply, she stood from the little chair, collecting her bag and making for the door.

“How shall I contact you, Mr. Holmes?”

“You won’t. I’ll be in touch with any developments, thank you and have a good day,” he replied casually, reclining again on the sofa with the man’s tablet in his hand.

The woman hesitated a moment, but then muttered her appreciation again and took her leave, obviously realizing their meeting had been brought to a close. 

Sherlock barely registered her leaving, opening up a fresh screen in his mind and systematically beginning to organize all that he could glean from that tablet about Bobby Thorson.

* * *

“It’ll be mostly internal,” Molly explained gently. “But she will end up with a plate on the center of her chest. We can cover it eventually, possibly with skin grafts or something very like, after everything is set and done.”

John stared at Mary, still in the bed, arms crossed tight over his middle.

“I see. And that’s it, she won’t have any problems after?”

Molly tipped her head. “Well...it’s always a bit difficult to say till we try. Often times it is a rather magical solution. Other times, the human body just doesn’t take to it.”

He turned to her. “Doesn’t take to it,” he repeated. “You mean they die, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Yes, John, sometimes they die. But she can’t live like this either. Not for long, at least.”

He sighed deeply. “I know, I know. You have my full permission to try whatever you can of course. It’s just, it’s a lot to wrap my head around.”

“It’s ok, I know,” Molly acknowledged, placing a hand on his arm. “You should really talk to someone...maybe a friend who-“

She and John both turned at the knock and immediate entry at her office door. “Molly, one of the interns said you’d be-”

All three in the room froze, tension filling up every inch of space between them. John quickly stepped away from Molly and toward the door. 

“They’ve got Mary in pre-op now so I’ll go be with her. Thank you.” He paused at the door and gestured to Sherlock. “I don’t want him involved.”

Molly’s cheeks instantly flushed in embarrassment for all of them. “John, please just-“

“No, it’s fine, Molly,” Sherlock said, quiet but firm. “He has every right.”

John glanced only briefly at him, that apparently being all he could handle before looking back at Molly.

“She’s my wife, and I’m just saying I don’t want him involved. That’s all,” he restated, not hazarding another look at the detective himself before quietly taking his leave. 

Molly sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, really.”

“I’m pleased you’re going to have a go at helping Mary,” he replied, completely skimming over the painfully awkward exchange that just took place.

She smiled, allowing him to shift the focus if he’d prefer, no matter how unfair she knew it all was. “Yeah, me too. I’ll do my best.”

“Obviously you’re quite busy so I’ll leave you to it. Just thought I’d mention I took a case involving a missing young man who also happens to be a cyborg. So if any heavy legged young men come through the morgue, do be sure to let me know.”

Molly nodded. “I see. What’s his name?”

“Bobby Thorson. His sister Harriet visited with the case. I’ll do my best to find him before you do.”

“Ok. Oh and, Sherlock? I will try and talk to John,” she offered.

But Sherlock shook his head.

“No. Let him be, Molly...I nearly killed his wife.”

“You absolutely did not! His wife nearly got herself-“ She stopped herself, not wanting to argue with him. She wasn’t sure how much good it did at the moment. “Well anyway, I was going to text you but since you’re here I’ll just remind you I’m giving that speech at the hospital function tomorrow evening.”

“Ah, the one on standardizing cybertronic enhancements and repairs in the hospital setting.” He picked up the little skull paperweight on her desk made of half bone, half metal and rolled it around in his palm.

“Yeah that’s the one. I’m a little nervous so...might be nice to see familiar faces in the audience. Not really even sure what I’m wearing yet.”

“Just wear whatever you normally would, along with your lab coat,” he replied instantly, tossing the skull from one hand to the other. “It’s a visual reminder of your professional status. Besides, wearing something too attractive would only distract from your speech.”

Molly’s cheeks nearly burst into flames. “T-too attractive? I really don’t think-“

He sighed. “Yeees, you are an attractive woman, Molly. Choosing your outfit with care will help make sure your audience’s focus is where it should be.”

“That’s um...helpful, thanks.”

“And I’ll try to be there,” he added, setting the paper weight back down. “Along with a donation from Mycroft sizable enough to make up for his absence.” 

“I can imagine,” she laughed.

“Time to scrub in then?”

She nodded. “It is, yeah. I’ll text you and let you know how it went. But we’ll still keep her out for a bit, till it seems safe enough to let her have a go of it on her own. Maybe later tomorrow. I just...I really hope I can do this.”

Sherlock smiled, unusually warm and comforting as he reached down to take her hand, holding it up in display.

“I can’t imagine any more capable hands for the job.”

He left then, her hand briefly suspended in the air where he’d let it go. She slowly brought it in toward her, holding it close against her chest, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

“Well...now I’m ready to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the fic is largely planned, I’m not 100% planned out for exactly what the next chapter will include yet, so I might end up taking a bit longer for the next update. Please do share your thoughts, I continue to be interested in what you guys think about this one. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I’m back! :D Who’s ready to add Watson drama more fully into this mix? And some other stuff of course. Read on and enjoy!

Cardiff was, unsurprisingly, bleak.

Sherlock strolled confidently up to the door of the cyborg club, hair a bit rumpled and wearing a more casual array of clothing than normal. He pulled some shades off his eyes and stepped up to the doorway, guarded by two cyborg bouncers. One with two cybertronic arms and the other with a good portion of his face, including one eye which Sherlock could tell did more than just look at you.

“Human,” he stated. “Just here for the fights.”

Neither of them blinked at that claim of course, instantly waving him through so he could go around the full body scanner. Not that those ever really caught onto anything that was in Sherlock’s system, but it was one less hassle.

He had to turn down his bass audio receptors a bit when entering the club as he could barely hear himself think, then he was able to concentrate enough to start looking around for a frequent club goer named Ryan Fleming. 

Sherlock took a seat at the bar and before the bartender could even get to him, a woman approached him, sliding her arm around his shoulder. As she circled around and came into view it became clear nearly the entire right side of her body was mechanic.

“Ooh, you look all flesh and blood don’t you? Though I dunno, maybe there’s a bit more to see under these clothes. That could be awfully fun. I’m up for a game of  _ guess where _ ,” she drawled, looking him up and down. “You looking for a good time?”

Sherlock grinned. “I am indeed. And more specifically an  _ intellectually _ good time.”

She looked instantly deflated, letting her hand slip off his shoulder. “I uh, I don’t really have a going rate for that sort of thing...if you know what I mean.”

“Somehow, I already surmised,” he bit back. “But perhaps you can tell me if a man named Ryan Fleming is here.”

“Oh yeah, he’s right over there,” she instantly replied, pointing to the corner where a man was drinking alone at a table. 

“Ah excellent.” Sherlock said glancing at the man, then waved to the bartender. “One pint please.”

“Yeah that’s not really my choice of-“

“Not for you,” Sherlock said. “It’s for Mr. Fleming.”

The woman shrugged. “Sure, mate, whatever you’re into but I don’t think he’ll be an intellectually good time either.” And with that she marched off, setting her sights on another man sitting alone at the bar.

Sherlock took off as well, heading over to the other end of the club with the pint in hand. He reached the table and set it down in front of the man’s nearly empty one, taking a seat across from him.

“Evening. Ryan Fleming, isn’t it?”

The man stared at him blankly for a moment before tugging the pint in closer and having a sip.

“Yeah that’s right,” he finally replied, setting the mug down. “What you want?”

“I have a friend by the name of Bobby Thorson. Been talking my ear off for months about this place and about you,” Sherlock said, slipping into a persona. “Thought it was worth a butchers, finally. Surprised not to find him here, actually, the way he goes on about it.”

Ryan shrugged in the midst of taking another swig. “I ain’t seen him round here in six months, maybe more.”

“Really? That’s odd, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked, watching the man carefully.

Ryan sat up a bit straighter. “He’s your friend, not mine, mate.”

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He relaxed his posture and even lounged back further in his seat. “Might have wanted to tell him that, then. He made it sound like you were best mates, it’s why I thought I should at least buy you a pint.””

The smaller man relaxed a bit before taking a swig of the pint. “Well, cheers for that, then. Bobby would come ‘round every week or two, but we didn’t talk that much. Usually he’d just come for special purchases. Y’know...for a little relaxation.” He smirked. “And isn’t that why you’re here too, mate?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in recognition. Ah, so there was the connection to drugs. That made a link to the cyborg black market all the more likely. 

“Another time, maybe.” Sherlock stood from his chair, eyes drawn to the fighting ring as he did and walking away without another word.

Having gotten the bit of what he needed, he strolled over to the ring, eagerly watching the current fight. A boxing match, to be exact. He rolled his eyes picking out the errors that each fighter was making every step of the way, nearly walking away a couple times from the frustration of it. Especially disappointing that it was a cyborg match.

As that match came to a close Sherlock began walking toward the sign up area. He rolled up his sleeves, considering which category he’d have a better chance of signing up for without being suspicious- human or cyborg. Either way, this could be awfully fun…

Just as he got up to the table, his watch began buzzing against his wrist and he lifted it to view the alarm.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“What’s a matter, mate? Missus waitin on ya?” the man taking sign ups chuckled.

Sherlock glanced at the man momentarily, deciding a detailed explanation simply wasn’t necessary. He pulled his sleeves back down as he quickly replied and turned to go.

“Something like that.”

* * *

“So in conclusion,” Molly said, turning away a bit to clear her throat which had rapidly become like the Sahara after nearly an hour behind the mic. “I’d like to talk a little bit about some success we’ve had recently.”

Her eyes scanned the audience once more, as inconspicuous as possible. 

“Cybertronic repair and enhancements can truly make the difference between life and death in many cases. There is a point where the human body simply cannot repair itself, at least not fast enough to sustain life. In those cases, the family or legal proxy choose to accept the option of alternative cyborg treatment more than nine times out of ten. And in those instances, there is an over seventy five percent success rate. That is enormous in the medical world. Our most recent success story, is one of a friend of mine.”

Molly paused, smiling and hoping she wouldn’t become embarrassingly emotional.

“My assistants and I have just today taken a young wife and mother off of her respiratory supports and out of sedation. She will soon be reunited with her husband and begin her relatively simple recovery process. Once fully healed she’ll simply need biannual check ups by a qualified specialist to ensure all parts continue working properly, which will surely not seem a hardship considering that all the while she’ll be there to watch her daughter grow.” She stopped to press her lips together and take a controlled breath through her nose. 

As she did, her gaze got caught at the back of the room.

And there he was, finally showing up at the end, which was a bit upsetting. She would have liked to think he’d make something like this a priority. If not for her, at least for the cause. She should really be angry at him.

It was difficult though. Because even across the entire auditorium his eyes locked onto hers, holding unapologetically tight and warming her with ease. For a split second she nearly forgot where she was. Then he winked.

That shook her back to reality.

“I urge all of you to consider donating to this particular medical field,” she continued, soldiering on to her conclusion. “Because with a little effort, it can and should become as common as any other sort of life saving procedure. Please put aside any reservations or prejudices, and remember that this is about what we are all here for...to heal and save lives. Each of which is unique, precious, and worth absolutely everything to those who love them. Thank you.”

Molly picked up her electronic notes as the applause began, giving Sherlock one last glance and then quickly exiting the stage before her knees could give way beneath her. 

It was done and relief washed over her. Especially when she checked her mobile and saw that her clinic hadn’t contacted her at all. That was an excellent sign, given that they’d just started to bring Mary back to consciousness before she had to leave for the lecture.

As she took the little back stairs back out toward the auditorium she heard the chairman dismissing the crowd, inviting them all to enjoy some refreshments down the hall. Unlikely that Sherlock would want to stay for that...but she decided to optimistically suggest that he join her. Maybe a bit of the adrenaline from her speech was lingering.

She came around to the back of the room where she’d seen him, searching through the people milling about but seeing no sign of him. Her mobile buzzed and she could have guessed before she even took it out of her pocket.

APOLOGIES, I GOT AN EMAIL FROM THE MISSING MAN’S EMPLOYER. SEEMS HE HAS TIME TO SPEAK WITH ME THIS EVENING. -SH

Her shoulders fell slack with inevitable disappointment. His presence tonight meant more to her than anyone else’s, but just like that he was gone. It took quite a bit of effort for her to type out a calm and cool response.

HOPE IT GOES WELL. MAYBE I’LL SEE YOU SOON? -MH

SEEMS LIKELY. -SH

She nearly set her phone back in her pocket.

FORTUNATE THE SPEAKING SETUP INCLUDED A LECTERN...YOU DIDN’T TAKE MY ADVICE DOCTOR. -SH

Molly felt color floor her face as she glanced down at herself, at the chic black jumpsuit and heels she’d chosen, and then back at his message. Was he perhaps...giving her a compliment? She chewed at her bottom lip while replying.

THOUGHT IT BEST I DIDN’T. NOT REALLY YOUR AREA IS IT? ;) -MH

She put her mobile away then, knowing he wouldn’t reply. And she was right, he didn’t. Which was ok with her. Sometimes it felt nice to have the last word. 

* * *

John’s fingers inched over, almost afraid to touch her, before taking a deep breath and finally reaching her hand and scooping it up in his. She’d been stirring just not fully conscious yet. But now, her eyes were blinking, fully opening and looking around. 

It was the most beautiful sight he could imagine.

Mary made a strangled groan, turning her head a bit as her gaze finally fell on him.

“John-“ she choked out softly. 

The desperation in her eyes brought him back to days before when he’d held her in his arms as she spoke words that they both believed could be her last.

“She’s in pain,” John said to the nurse standing by.

“You can go ahead and click that little button and administer a dose of pain medication for her,” she explained, giving him a comforting smile.

He fumbled with the switch, pushing the button awkwardly as if he were a clueless patient and not a specially trained army doctor. Once he’d accomplished his task his hands found hers again.

“You’re ok, you’re gonna to be just fine,” he said firmly, bringing her hand up to press a kiss to it. “You had to have some surgery but it’s all ok now. 

Mary brought her other hand up to her chest, gently touching the dressing and glancing down. “God, it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” John soothed. “It’ll get better, I promise. I’ll explain everything you’re feeling soon. Just try to relax.”

Clearly that would prove a challenge though. Mary seemed rather desperate as she’d finally become conscious again for the first time in a few days.

“Rosie! John, is Rosie ok?”

“Of course, yes, she’s perfectly fine. Everyone has been pitching in and helping with her, so please don’t worry.”

“And Sherlock! Is Sherlock ok?” 

John froze, staring blankly at her for a moment before clearing his throat. 

Mary’s face fell. “Oh God, he’s not ok...”

“No no, he’s fine. Of course Sherlock is fine,” John clarified, unable to conceal the hint of bitterness in his tone. “Though I haven’t talked to him much.”

Mary frowned a bit, eyes picking apart her husband's expression. 

“John...tell me you’re not angry with him.”

He said nothing, his jaw tightening as he looked away momentarily. 

“Tell me you’re not angry with him,” she repeated through clenched teeth. “John, it was my choice!”

“Please try to stay relaxed,” he said, keeping his tone carefully subdued. “It’s just- Mary, you could have died!”

“John, he’s your friend and  _ he _ could have died too!”

“No he couldn’t!” John bit back. “You can’t die if you’re not alive in the first place! He isn’t flesh and bone like you are!” He sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You just- you shouldn’t have done that. More chance he could be repaired than you.”

Mary reached up to stroke his face. “You don’t know that,” she whispered. “And besides...I’m ok. You said so yourself.”

“Just barely,” he retorted softly, shaking his head.

“John, do something for me,” she added after a moment.

His head shot up again, looking at her eagerly. “Anything- anything you want.”

She gave him a small smile. “Go and talk to him.”

John rolled his eyes. “God, Mary you just woke up and-“

“And your best friend thinks you hate him for something he didn’t do. Like you said, I’m awake now and I’m ok. Though all that means is that I’m going to be asleep again for an age now I’ve got some pain medication on board. So go. Talk. To. Him.”

John looked down at his precious wife’s hand in his, finally nodding as he swallowed thickly. “Ok,” he agreed, almost inaudibly. 

“Ok,” she parroted, giving his cheek another affectionate touch. 

Then John’s eyes met hers again, the weight of the world within them as he spoke.

“Before I go though, there’s something that I need to- to say.”

Even in her weakened state, he could tell that she knew something awfully big was coming. 

“Mary, I need to tell you something…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn’t a super squee worthy shippy chapter, but patience, good things will be coming. And besides, this fic isn’t all fluff and romance. I’m gonna make you work for it lol. (Who am I kidding, I’m making MYSELF work for it. Who wants the romance more than me? Nobody. XD)  
> Till next time! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it’s been a little while, apologies for that! And I’m glad I’m getting to update today because it might be another 1-2 weeks till I can update again. Grateful that Lexie could help beta read and get this out to post by today! :)

Sherlock pulled up the mental case file, opening it wide and spreading out the existing pieces of evidence in front of his eyes with the flourish of his hand. He pulled new facts in, adding the information about a drug habit, the meeting with the man’s employer, and where he was last seen. He created smaller sub files, listing details about the places and people etc. He was making pretty good progress.

Though the ongoing distraction was a bit annoying.

“Exactly how long do you plan to hover in the doorway, pacing back and forth like an indecisive client?”

Footsteps over the threshold finally made him turn. It felt like an age since he’d seen John Watson, his best friend, step into the flat. Sherlock broke the awkward silence quickly.

“I’ll put the kettle on.” 

* * *

Sherlock drew a slow breath and let it out as he lowered his fingers from against his lips.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“No, no, there is,” John insisted. “I was in the wrong, I behaved badly because of guilt that I was feeling for the reasons I just explained...and I’m sorry.”

He honestly didn’t hold anything against John, feeling that if anything John had the right to the way he’d been feeling. But his friend was apologizing, and the proper thing to do was to accept as opposed to arguing his opinion any further.

“Thank you for saying that,” Sherlock finally replied and he could see the instant relief on John’s face. “Though, for what it’s worth, I don’t believe she should have done it.”

“It is what it is,” was John’s simple reply.

And with that, Sherlock decided that perhaps now they could get back to the other thing that John had mentioned...

“So you told Mary...all of what you just shared with me?”

John nodded. “All of it.”

“Probably wise that you chose a moment she was still mostly incapacitated,” he said with a sniff. “Though...I suppose in many people’s estimation there wasn’t much to tell.”

John shook his head emphatically. “No, this was plenty. It was enough to make me feel like a worthless husband and father.”

“But you never texted her?”

“Right, but I still  _ kept the number _ . And I...I thought about her.” He looked down, in obvious shame. “I thought about her a lot actually. How lovely she was, the way she looked at me, the way her fingers brushed my hand when she handed me her number. Just- all of it. I’d daydream about it and it made me feel more alive and confident than I had in a long time. I considered texting her a million times.”

Sherlock watched him carefully, taking in the obviously conflicting emotions.

“And that’s not fair, I know it’s not!” John added vehemently. “We just had a baby a few months ago, for God’s sake. It’s stupid and for me to expect Mary and I to have nearly as much time for each other as we did before Rosie. But selfishly, I still just...craved some attention.”

“What exactly did Mary say?”

John sighed deeply. “She was just so...she was so hurt, Sherlock. Here she is, back from the dead- in a way- and I tell her this? She was awfully quiet actually, which almost scares me more than if she’d screamed at me. She said, ‘I’m glad you told me’ and then added that it was a lot to take in and she’d have to think. I’m afraid she isn’t going to forgive me.”

“You forgave her,” Sherlock stated simply.

John shrugged. “This is a bit different. Marital fidelity is- well it’s an awfully sensitive thing. Maybe more so than secretly being an ex assassin. It’s complicated, I know this is a little...maybe over your head.”

Sherlock pursed his lips, considering that. Perhaps it was. What was going on between the Watson’s definitely wasn’t black and white, even by human standards. There were certainly emotional complexities that made it a tricky road to navigate for him. Perhaps this wasn’t his area...

“Sherlock, I can’t just lose her,” John added softly. 

“Why?” Sherlock asked simply. Of course, he knew the simply answer. It was because he loved her. But something about the way his friend said the words intrigued him.

“Because I don’t deserve her,” he answered with a short laugh. “I really don’t. I’m not the good man that she always believed I was. But that’s the point.  _ She believed _ I was that man. And that makes me want to be better- to do better. Why do you think I’m here right now? I’m doing the right thing by my best friend because  _ she told me to _ . That’s what she does for me day in and day out, and God knows I need it. We all need that in our lives.”

Sherlock silently questioned whether that was really true as John paused for a breath.

“Well anyway, just wanted to come by and clear things up.” John got up from his seat, straightening his jacket. “You seemed like you were in the middle of something so maybe I should let you get back to that.”

He started for the door.

“Actually, you were hoping to help.”

John halted, turning back to Sherlock who still stared into the flames.

“Well, I didn’t say-“

“You didn’t have to. Your wife is busy recovering, and you’re hoping so will your marriage. That’s going to involve quite a bit of waiting patience. Especially since she’ll need qualified professional’s care more than her husband’s at the moment. Oh of course you’ll need to be there with her at times, but there will also be quite a lot of time spent with little to do. Even your daughter is in Mrs Hudson’s care at least half of most days right now.” He turned and smiled. “Care for a rather unique missing person’s case?”

John released a sigh of relief. “Oh God yes.”

* * *

Sherlock pulled the scarf off his neck with a huff as he made an electronic connection with the lab door, unlocking it using the code he’d recently swiped from Molly’s mobile. It was after hours, but Molly worked an odd shift today so it was likely she’d be back in the lab before heading home. He’d just relax there and wait for her. He had time, and this was hardly an emergency.

Sherlock opened the door and quickly slipped inside, turning the light on and shutting the door behind him. 

He casually rummaged through some of the drawers in her cabinet while he waited. As he did it triggered some old memory files which felt awfully similar. It made him smile a bit to recall the circumstances around the first time he’d done this.

Mycroft kept a frustrating eye on him at all times. It was apparently the trade off for the gift of being able to live an independent life. But that didn’t stop Mycroft from nitpicking quite a bit, especially in the first year or so after his activation…

_ “You’re tinkering again.” _

_ “What are you talking about?” _

_ “You know exactly what I’m talking about and it needs. To. Stop.” _

_ “I am perfectly capable of-“ _

_ “As a matter of fact you are not, but there’s someone else who is.”  _

_ Mycroft shoved a business card at him which Sherlock hesitantly took and read aloud. _

_ “Molly Hooper, specialist registrar, CMD, St. Bart’s Hospital. CMD?” _

_ “Cyborg Medical Doctor,” Mycroft explained. “Which naturally means she would be more than competent in your unique brand of A.I. as well. Anything that needs doing, she should be called upon to do it.” _

_ Sherlock petulantly flicked the business card back toward his brother. “Whatever needs doing, I’m the one competent enough to do it, thank you! Nobody else but me needs to be ‘tinkering’ as you put it!” _

_ Mycroft made no reply at first. He simply picked the card up off the ground and calmly placed it on Sherlock’s table before taking his umbrella and heading for the door. Wisely though, he said one more thing on his way out. _

_ “Pity. Nobody in the city has higher quality tools of the trade than Dr. Hooper. Afternoon, brother mine.” _

It took Sherlock less than a week of glancing at that business card on his table before he decided to break into Bart’s for the very first time, still fully convinced that he didn’t need a stupid doctor caring for him. But naturally the mention of her access to tools drew him in. He’d never forget the look on her face when she walked in the lab and caught him doing exactly what he was doing at this very moment…

_ Sherlock sighed, realizing he’d been caught red handed with no way out. He shut the drawer he’d been going through and turned, slapping on a charming smile. _

_ “You must be Molly Hooper,” he said pleasantly, leaning casually on the metal cabinets. “The...specialist.” _

_ Her eyes were glued to his, almost too tight for his liking.  _

_ “Th-that’s right,” she muttered. “And you must be Sherlock Holmes.” _

_ He frowned.  _

_ “I just, um, I often work with Inspector Lestrade and he’s- he’s mentioned you a number of times. And I recognize you from some of your cases.”  _

_ “That’s not the only reason you know who I am though, is it?” Sherlock replied perceptively. “I imagine my brother has been in touch.” _

_ “What?” Molly shot back, her expression morphing suddenly to shock. “Sorry, no, I don’t-“ _

_ “Pff, of course Mycroft has contacted you,” Sherlock insisted with the flip of his hand. “No need to bother lying. If he’s told me I need a specialized doctor, it doesn’t take much to deduce that he’s already spoken to said doctor himself.” _

_ She pressed her lips together, staring back at him in apparent silent admission.  _

_ Sherlock approached slowly, keeping his eyes carefully trained to her expression and body language as he spoke in a low timbre. _

_ “Which means...you know what I am.” _

_ She swallowed visibly before finally nodding. “I do, yeah.” _

_ He continued observing, finding absolutely nothing to dislike or mistrust, but of course still given to his own personal pride. _

_ “I have no need of a doctor,” he stated firmly. _

_ Molly’s lips lifted just a touch. “I know. That’s ok. I mean, I’m hardly a GP am I?” She let out a little laugh. “You can just consider that I’m, y’know...here if you need me.” _

_ He marveled at the fact that she was almost completely unfazed by any of this. She wasn’t afraid, offended, confused. Nothing like that. He couldn’t help feeling like she was practically waiting for the day he’d waltz into this hospital. _

_ And just like that he realized that this was indeed exactly what he needed. _

* * *

“What would you recommend for my heart chronically racing?”

Molly grasped her own beating heart, stopping short in the doorway as Sherlock’s voice echoed a bit in the little room. She let out a heavy breath and set some files down that she was bringing back to the lab.

“Evening, Sherlock,” she commented as calmly as possible, temporarily setting aside his instant question. “And how are you?” 

“John stopped by Baker St.”

Molly froze, tuning in more fully at that statement. “Really? Gosh, how did that go?”

“Quite well actually. Apparently Mary insisted on his making amends.”

She smiled. “That sounds about right. I’m glad things are back to normal.”

Sherlock tilted his head. “Nearly back to normal. John and Mary have some...things to work through at the moment.”

“Well yeah. I mean, she’s got to recover and do a bit of specialized physical therapy so she can adjust to-“

“Nothing to do with that.”

Molly frowned in confusion. “What else could be going on?”

“Bit complex for me,” Sherlock quipped. “Apparently John was interested in texting another woman.”

“He what?!”

Sherlock smirked. “Not complex to you, it seems.”

“Please tell me he didn’t.”

“He didn’t. But apparently there’s still some healing needed.”

“Well of course there is,” Molly agreed with a huff. “If your husband was  _ considering _ cheating that’s the first step to  _ actually _ cheating. Makes you wonder what they’ll do the next time an opportunity presents itself. Doesn’t exactly build trust!”

“Hm,” Sherlock grunted thoughtfully. “That does make the issue a bit clearer, yes.”

“Oh, wait, so...what was the problem about your heart?”

“Ah that!” Sherlock hopped off the table he’d been sitting on. “I’ve told you before that it races and it still does on occasion. I don’t understand what’s wrong. It should function consistently!”

“It- it is functioning consistently,” Molly explained patiently, tucking some hair behind her ears as she approached him. “But your mechanical heart rhythm is meant to fluctuate based on activity and things, like a real heart. For instance, if you’re running.”

“No no, it doesn’t always coincide with physical activity,” he argued. “Sometimes it can even be connected to things like mental strain. Why would it do that? It can’t be working properly.”

She let out a little sigh. “Sherlock, it’s fine, really. Remember that there’s algorithms that have been designed to respond to things like surprise or fear because getting your heartrate up will allow for better response and, like real people, the “instinct” for self-preservation. I’ve done diagnostics on you at least monthly for years now and I’ve never seen anything to make me concerned.”

“It can’t be normal!”

“Remember, you were designed with functions that no other A.I. has and to react as humanly as possible because you’re not just a machine, you’re made to be  _ part of a family _ !”

“But that’s an illogical design!”

“No, it’s just-“

“Just feel it, Molly!”

He grabbed her hand, pressing it against his shirt on the upper left part of his chest. 

Molly instinctively pulled her bottom lip inward, biting it hard between her teeth as he stared her down and held her palm firmly against the thumping.

“We’re just arguing, that’s all,” he stated, his voice quieted. “I’m not running or exerting myself physically. But my heart rate is still elevated.”

She moved her fingertips, just barely pressing against the expensive dress shirt as she gulped. 

“I can feel it,” she conceded softly. “And if you want an exact explanation, all I can guess is that it’s connected to your um, your temperature gauge. If thought process or perhaps even...situations become more intense, then perhaps the increase in brain system temperature creates a more rapid heart beat. To um, to help cool down maybe.”

Sherlock listened silently for a moment before glancing down to his chest where his hand was confining hers. He released pressure instantly, allowing her fingers to slide away.

Molly instantly wished he hadn’t.

“Well,” he replied softly, straightening his suit jacket. “I suppose, as long as it’s no concern.”

She nodded. “I’m sure it’s not.”

Sherlock regarded her for a moment more before turning to the door.

“Any sign of that missing young man?” Molly thought to ask. 

“Not yet, and the leads are getting a bit slow.”

“You should go see Mary soon,” she suggested, knowing what boredom and inactivity did to the poor man. “I bet she’d like to see you. You could even try a bit of friendly marriage counseling!”

He chuckled. “Best left to the professionals, I imagine. As we’ve just proven, your knowledge of the heart is far superior to mine.” 

“Not much to recommend me,” she muttered to herself once he was through the door. “I can barely keep my own heart in line.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I turned down John’s betrayal a notch or two. I wanted an issue to still be present so that John’s treatment of Sherlock would still be largely internal guilt driven. But at the same time I just didn’t want to deal with the mess of John having had an actual emotional affair. But anyway! Man, five chapters in and I feel like there’s still quite a lot left to cover! I feel like this will end up with more than 10 chapters. Which is a lot to me these days lol. Hopefully it’s still feeling fun and you’re happy to stay on board. I’d love to hear any possible thoughts! ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blows a layer of dust off this AO3 page* Whew! Well it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I don’t often leave a WIP this long so I’m glad to finally be posting an update. Hope everyone is excited to get back into all the fun! ;D

“You brought flowers.”

The sound of Mary’s voice drew Sherlock’s gaze to her now open eyes. 

“Yes,” he replied, standing from his chair to cross the room to her while setting the small bouquet of daisies on the table. “I was informed it’s what people do.”

She grinned up at him, reaching out to talk his hand. “I’m so pleased you’re ok.”

Sherlock frowned. “Shouldn’t I be the one to say that?”

“Well...just imagine if I’d gone to all that trouble to save you and then it turned out that you weren’t ok. I’d be terribly cross with you,” she explained with a little wink.

He opened his mouth.

“And speaking of,” Mary continued, instantly cutting him off, suddenly serious. “You’d do well to save your breath and scold me for what I did. I knew what I was doing and it was a calculated risk. You…” she cut herself off and took some deep breaths, obviously fighting back tears. “I had taken your life once before, and I didn’t want to have to be responsible for it again. I’d like to think it was worth it in the end.”

“I respectfully disagree,” Sherlock replied softly. “But…it is what it is.”

“Yes, it certainly is.”

Something in her tone made him realize that she wasn’t just thinking about her taking a bullet anymore.

“He hates himself for it,” Sherlock said, and recognition immediately sprung up in her eyes. “I thought you should know. After all, you pushed him to make things right with me. I assume it’s only right for me to return the favor?”

Mary let out a small laugh as she cautiously pushed herself further upright. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“Albeit artificially,” he quipped.

Mary reached over to take his hand. “We’ll be ok,” she said softly. “We will...eventually. We just have some work to do, that’s all. I think we drifted a bit without realizing it.”

Sherlock nodded. “And the recovery? Yours, I mean, with all the...upgrades”

“Going well,” she said, reaching up to tap the small metal plate on her chest. “Takes some getting used to but I’m awfully grateful. That Molly Hooper...she’s something, isn’t she?”

“I knew she’d get the job done,” he stated confidently. “Nobody better for it.”

“Nobody better,” Mary repeated with a little sparkle in her eyes. “Have you always known Molly? I mean since-“

“Since not long after I was activated, yes.”

Mary nodded. “She‘s a wonderful person.”

He paused a breath. “I’d say so.”

“Have you ever told her?”

Sherlock frowned. 

“How important she is to you.” The look in Mary’s eyes sharpens as she clearly searches for something.

“Why do you ask?” he questioned suspiciously.

Mary shrugged. “Because she’s the kind of person who deserves to hear it but she’s not the kind who’ll demand to. She’s selfless, so her friendship and devotion aren’t wholly dependent on what  _ she _ gets.”

Mary was right, he knew that. That was exactly the sort of person Molly was.

“I have told her on occasion that she...matters a great deal and that I trust her implicitly.”

Mary pursed her lips humorously. “Ooh, mushy.”

“Exactly what else do you imagine I’d be saying to Molly Hooper?” he scoffed.

She tilted her head in thought. “Dunno. But it might be something for you to think about.”

“Mary, you should know by now that the depth of human connection of which I’m capable is only-“

“Only limited by  _ you _ , Sherlock,” she stated, with sudden fervor. “Never doubt what you are capable of, do you understand me?”

He stared back into her blue eyes, nearly ready to dig deeper into this statement, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Well fancy running into Uncle Sherlock!”

John entered the room, Rosie on his hip who was already leaning eagerly toward her mother the second she saw her.

“I’ll let the three of you have some time,” Sherlock said instantly, stepping back with a smile at the Watsons. 

“Sherlock?” Mary, making him turn back to where she sat surrounded by her little family. “I’m glad you came to visit.”

He gave her a little nod and another smile before making his exit. And he couldn’t help but feel some strange sense of contentment seeing all three Watsons together like that. It felt as if things were just as they should be.

He genuinely hoped that’s how things would stay.

* * *

“Bobby’s sent this to me,” the young man named Frank stated as he set the box down on the table with a thud. “I got it the day after I heard he’d gone missing. I dunno, I think maybe he was trying to send some sort of message. Maybe that he was depressed or something.”

“You think he hurt himself then,” Sherlock stated, hoping to dig a bit further.

The man shrugged. “Maybe. I know he wasn’t happy. But I still have a hard time believing he’d disappear on purpose or, y’know...off himself without explaining.”

Sherlock glanced at the box, considering whether to open it there or not.

“You can take it,” Frank offered perceptively. “Not even sure I want it back. I don’t like to think of him like that. He was my friend and  _ that _ ...that’s not him to me.”

He slid the box over toward Sherlock and he took it, standing from the table and nodding in thanks.

This case was becoming awfully stale the past couple of days, and as he left Bobby’s friend Frank’s flat, Sherlock hoped that this would give him a little something new to add to the mental file. 

One way or another, he needed to find this man.

* * *

Toby bolted from where Molly stood in the kitchen at sound of her mobile ringing. She sighed as she glanced at the caller ID while drying her hands from the dish water. She kind of dreaded these calls.

“Hello,” Molly answered, brightly as she could.

“Good evening, Dr. Hooper,” Mycroft Holmes said flatly.

“Working a bit late,” she commented, glancing at the clock as she finished loading the dishwasher. 

“I’m in government...I’m always working,” he replied with a slight air of superiority. 

She resisted the urge to say ‘good for you, but I’m not’ and hang up.

“So can I...help you with something then?”

“Just checking in.”

Molly paused, frowning to herself. In her estimation he seemed a bit more on edge lately. More concerned with Sherlock than he had been in the past. Perhaps he knew something she didn’t.

“Mycroft, is he ok?”

He sniffed. “I do believe I was the one calling to ask how he is. He’s far more often in your presence than mine. Your place of employment is practically his home away from home. And in fact, so is your flat from what I can gather.”

Molly shifted nervously at his tone and tried to reply as evenly as possible.

“Yes well- he just, y’know, feels comfortable coming to me and knows I don’t mind if-“

“Dr. Hooper, I wasn’t asking for a synopsis of your current relationship,” he said, quickly cutting her off. “I simply wanted to know if there was anything of note to report.”

Molly chewed her lip for a moment, pausing for a breath of courage.

“Mycroft, I- I think I should remind you that on the subject of my relationship with Sherlock, well, that’s just it. We have one. We’re  _ friends _ , he and I,” she stated in a purposely firm voice. “You and I aren’t.”

There was a moment of frosty silence on the other end of the line before he spoke again. 

“Exactly what are you saying, Dr. Hooper? That you refuse to communicate with me anymore?”

“No, not exactly, but it’s just- well, I feel a bit uncomfortable that I’m occasionally expected to... _ report _ on my friend. Besides, he’s also sort of my patient. And there’s the whole doctor patient confidentiality matter to consider,” she rattled off.

“You do recall that I want exactly the same thing that you do, correct?”

She paused.

“We both simply want the best for Sherlock,” Mycroft said pointedly.

Molly swallowed thickly. Yes, she knew that was true. No matter her differences with him, she’d never dispute the fact that Mycroft Holmes desperately wanted Sherlock to be safe and content.

“But…” he continued, “I gather there’s nothing of serious import for you to share at this time. Let’s just agree that from here forward, if it is a matter of  _ safety _ , you do not withhold that information from me.”

Molly nodded while replying quietly. “Sure, yeah I can do that.”

“Good...and I shall do the same. Good night then, Dr Hooper.”

Molly returned the verbal gesture but she was pretty sure he hung up before she even got it all out. She heaved a sigh while setting her phone down on the counter again, feeling no less caught in the middle than she did before bravely stating her feelings to Mycroft.

She shook her head, turning on the dishwasher and heading down the hall to have a nice hot shower. This whole thing felt like a mess that she’d never quite be able to clean up. Not that it was her mess to begin with. But of course by now she felt quite largely connected to it. 

“Oh well,” she muttered to herself while turning on the water. 

Messy or not, there was nothing to be done but stay exactly where she was. Because she wasn’t the only one stuck in the mess. Sherlock was rather deep in it as well.

And she certainly wasn’t leaving him.

* * *

Sherlock settled at his kitchen table, shoving some science equipment to the side and opening the shoebox to reveal the photographs. They were a jumble, nothing really organized. But it might not have been necessary; it was pretty quickly clear that everything in that box held a common theme.

These were all photographs of Bobby after his injuries and during recovery.

He sat there for a moment, completely still as he peered into the box at the halves and corners of scenes from this missing man’s life. There was something that made him uneasy. 

Sherlock gave his head a small shake, rolling his shoulders briefly as he brought himself back to the reality of the moment. Back to the case.

He took a fistful of photos out, spreading them on the table to get a better view. The first one he examined featured an obviously unconscious and incubated Bobby. His father sat beside him, holding his hand. Sherlock also couldn’t help but notice that the blankets over his legs swooped down to the hospital mattress at an unnatural place, indicating the recent amputations above his knees. 

Sherlock set that one down and retrieved another one which was a bit closer up, showing some of the gashes along his arms and the sides of his face which were still slowly healing. There were wires and monitors everywhere. It was a challenge for his family to even reach a hand to hold.

Discarding that picture quickly, Sherlock picked one up that showed a now conscious Bobby. Doctors were testing the fit of the cybertronic legs. His sister stood nearby, smiling excitedly. But Sherlock focused in on Bobby’s face.

It was completely flat and emotionless. 

He clenched his jaw, staring at the photograph and especially Bobby’s face, his brow beginning to furrow in concentration. 

Sherlock forced himself to pick up another one, but was immediately sorry he did. This looked like one of the first times, perhaps the first time, that Bobby stood on his new cybertronic legs. The look on his face this time was one of fatigue, struggle...pain.

It was painful to look at.

Sherlock stood abruptly from the table, nearly knocking over the chair as he stepped away and ran his hand over the back of his neck, feeling a bit of moisture on his palm in the process. He undid another button of his dress shirt, swallowing hard as he realized he was overheating. Concern mounted as he checked his pulse to find it racing. 

He hurried over to open the freezer and stand in front of it but his respiration rate still seemed abnormal. Something definitely felt wrong, but despite his feeling warm, standing in front of the extreme cold provided little or no relief. 

Sherlock instantly shut the freezer, rushing past the table strewn with photos to grab his phone and leave the flat. He might not be completely sure of what he needed, but he trusted that  _ she _ would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that after such a long wait for a new chapter, this one doesn’t have any actual sherlolly interactions lol. But there will certianly be some next time, I promise you that! Stay tuned, I’m hoping this fic won’t stay silent for nearly as long this time. ;)  
> Thank you, Lexie, for being available for sudden and unplanned beta reading!! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s late but I just couldn’t wait till tomorrow, I really wanted to get this update posted. Been looking forward to this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy! Apologies again for taking a while to get this posted. What can I say? XD

Sherlock’s face loomed, large and distorted in the peephole on Molly’s door.

“I’m not well, Molly. Please let me in.”

She paused, quietly sighing to herself at the detectable melodrama. 

“Ok, you can come in,” she agreed while unlatching the door. 

He snaked in as soon as there was enough room for his lean form to do so, instantly pacing back and forth with his fingers presser to the pulse point on his wrist. 

“I’m not well,” he repeated. 

“You mentioned…”

“I’m trying to work, trying to get things done, and I can barely function! Lately it seems I’m far too easily overcome by something that can only be described as an…emotional response!” Sherlock bellowed, then shook his head vehemently. “Something  _ has to be _ wrong with me if I can’t even focus on the work.”

Molly squared her shoulders, preparing her words carefully as she approached and gently took his arm. 

“Sherlock, come sit down.”

They settled onto her little sofa across from the fireplace and Molly gave him a small smile. 

“First let me just do a general check, Ok?”

He eagerly shrugged off his coat and suit jacket and turned to allow her access to the control panel. Molly quietly assessed his current readings before closing the little door and giving him a gently pat on the back, indicating that he could turn round again. 

“You’re ok,” she pronounced simply. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You always say that,” he grumbled, leaning back against her sofa. “I’m beginning to think you’re lying to me.”

Molly licked her lips, trying to decide how to proceed delicately. 

“I want to address something you said a minute ago. You said that if you weren’t able to focus on work, that must mean something is wrong with you, right?”

He stared at her as she paused after that rhetorical question. 

“Sherlock...what do you think you were designed for?”

“Well, Mycroft purchased me for-“

“I didn’t ask why Mycroft  _ purchased _ you,” she quickly interrupted. “I asked what you were  _ designed for. _ I’m not sure you really understand the answer to that. Or maybe you just don’t believe it. If you did, I think it could make all the difference in the world.”

“You think so, do you?”

He hardly seemed convinced, but Molly forged ahead.

“You’re incredibly complex,” she began. “You’re unlike anything else that has been designed and completed. You and I both know that there are tens of thousands of A.I. these days. We encounter them almost daily and they’re becoming more and more commonly used. But what are they for? They’re made to complete simple and straightforward tasks that humans aren’t needed for. Things that require no complex  _ thoughts and feelings _ . Those things are required for something very different...dealings with people.”

He listened patiently, allowing her to continue.

“This sort of design wasn’t intended for menial tasks or to save anyone money or even to deduce things that nobody else can. You were made  _ for people _ . Because you have capabilities for interacting and forming relationships,” Molly explained carefully. “Sherlock, you were made to have friends, to be part of people’s lives...part of a family.”

Sherlock stared at her for a long time, letting that fully sink in before he finally looked away and opened his mouth in reply.

“A compelling argument, I suppose. Though ultimately, you only bring to light more reason for concern over my proper functioning.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned to her with a little more intensity. “You say I am made for people, for a family. But in that respect too, I fall short! I feel completely out of my element in a family setting, barely knowing how to behave and interact. I manage to keep a small handful of friends who only remain such because of  _ their patience _ , not because of my admirable treatment of them! So you see, my dealings with humans do not make me seem whole and functional, but quite the opposite.”

Molly sighed quietly, leaning back against her couch and cautiously watching his thoughtful profile. It was difficult to know what was best to say to him in moments like this. Difficult to know what she was able to say.

“I maintain,” he added softly. “I have never functioned properly.”

Sherlock reclined as well, staring blankly in front of him as he spoke. “I can think and deduce in ways that most can’t, that is true. But the processing is corrupted by brief emotional components coming through. It is as if I was designed to have partial abilities in multiple areas and therefore none are truly perfected.”

“Exactly,” Molly jumped in again. “None are supposed to be perfected. It makes you more-“

“Human?” Sherlock finished, looking at her. “If that was the ultimate intent in design then it is automatically flawed from the start. Why create a machine that is meant to be human-like...but ultimately doom them to be alone?”

Molly felt her throat tighten with overwhelming emotion, looking down at her hands instead of keeping his eye contact. It was too much to hear him speak like this.

“I’ll be here long after the Watsons are gone, and their children, and Mycroft and his family...and you. You’ll all be gone and I’ll still be here continually struggling to find some logical place for myself, not quite fitting into society and not quite perfecting the skills of a machine. I’ve said it before and I still believe that this is why a design like this was discontinued after me. It’s illogical and arguably even cruel. Nobody should have to endure this sort of strange in between existence. Perhaps I can arrange for Mycroft to have me deactivated at a reasonable age.”

“Don’t say that,  _ please _ !” Molly squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I hate to hear you talk like this.”

“Oh relax, I’ll make sure it’s not arranged till after you’re gone.”

“That’s not the point! It’s just- I don’t like to hear you talk like this about yourself. As if you’re so unimportant and disposable!”

“Molly, ultimately I am a machine. A machine with limited use!”

“No, you’re a- a  _ being _ ! A being with people who care about you, just like anyone else, and I won’t listen to you describe yourself as anything less.”

A pause and then he spoke again softly.

“I can’t help if I feel like less.”

Molly couldn’t say for sure what came over her. She wasn’t sure if she was desperately seeking comfort for herself or if it was an attempt to halt him from any further negative talk about himself. Perhaps a bit of both. But whatever it was that truly moved her, Molly reached up, placed her palm on the opposite side of his face to turn him toward her, and then leaned in to press her mouth to his.

She felt him freeze, a bit of shock likely taking over. She hadn’t really seen it coming so of course it was unlikely he had either. For a moment they both remained glued together, immobile. By the time she instinctively increased the pressure and moved her lips very slightly, true realization overtook her and she pulled back, pressing her now embarrassed lips together as she shifted away from him a bit. 

Sherlock’s eyes stared wide into hers as she moved away, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever closed his eyes at all. The idea of him doing nothing but staring in confusion for all of those five seconds was mortifying in the extreme.

“Sorry, that was- I didn’t really think- sorry,” she stuttered.

“What was that for?” he questioned softly, blinking, her apology offering no actual explanation. 

“I just- I dunno, I couldn’t stand hearing you talk about yourself so negatively for one more moment and I think I wanted you to sort of...feel better? I know! It’s stupid, I didn’t really think, sorry,” she hurriedly explained, wondering as she did whether he’d pick up on the fact that it was pretty incomplete, seeing as she left out the part about how she’d also simply been wanting to do that for quite a few years and finally gave into the nagging urge.

“Well it…” he began slowly. “Did effectively shift from the topic at hand.”

Molly absolutely wanted to die. Just crawl under her sofa and disappear from his sight. He was trying to be polite and that was just as painful as if he’d outright told her that was a completely unpleasant and unappealing experience. 

“Perhaps I should say...thank you?” 

“Oh God, no!” Molly covered her face momentarily, groaning. “Forget it, just- we can talk about something else. Anything else!”

“Well it was meant to be a kind gesture, so I would have assumed thanks was appropriate,” he retorted, not getting the message of how desperately she wished to be done with this topic.

“Sherlock, people don’t really say ‘thanks’ after they get kissed...not if they liked it anyway,” she added.

He sighed in exasperation. “You seem uncomfortable now, I’m simply trying to do what’s appropriate because it seems that thus far I haven't!”

“No, no, forget about it. I’m fine,” Molly insisted as genuinely as she could. “It was a stupid impulse and I shouldn’t have done it and it’s not your fault. I don’t expect you to pretend when you don’t want to reciprocate.”

He paused at that statement, narrowing his eyes as she began tearing through her brain trying to come up with a new topic to diffuse this bizarre situation she’d created. So naturally, it took her completely by surprise when she felt Sherlock’s hands cradle her face and his lips come crashing in against hers. 

A muffled squeak of surprise escaped her, but only for a split second. His lips began moving...really moving. The pressure of his lips easily parted hers, making way for him to begin tasting her mouth in a way that Molly couldn’t have possibly imagined him capable. Well no, that wasn’t true. Not surprising he was capable.

She’d just never imagined him doing such a thing  _ to he _ r.

He was leaning over a bit, making it necessary for Molly to rest her back against the arm of her sofa as she absolutely melted into him. This was nothing short of pure heaven. The slight weight of him leaning into her, the achingly slow way he was kissing her, the feel of his hair between her fingers...she’d not even realized her hands had settled there. It felt so easy, so natural, and far too  _ real _ . 

Maybe he wouldn’t mind if one of her hands slid down to his chest or around his back, pulling him in closer. Perhaps he even wanted her to. Could physical intimacy possibly help him? Would it unlock a revelation for him that words couldn’t? With one more touch of his tongue to hers and the shiver it sent through her, she realized that this all felt so indescribably good that maybe she didn’t need any more valid reason than that for going further.

As she was in the midst of rationalizing a next move, his lips slipped from hers, instantly shocking her back to reality. The room was absolutely spinning as he pulled away and she had to consciously refrain from holding her head to steady it. 

He sat up again, breathing quickly but seemingly composed as he ran a hand through his hair. She’d done a number to it.

“There,” he breathed out. “I assume reciprocating was the more appropriate response.”

Molly licked her still tingling lips, wondering how to get words out. As reality had settled back in, she couldn’t help but feel he should understand that as far as responses went, neither of them had picked a terribly appropriate one. At least, not for two people connected in a wholly platonic way.

“Well, it certainly was lovely but I just-“

Sherlock stood abruptly. “Seeing as I imposed on your evening at home unexpectedly, I should let you get back to...whatever else it was you were doing. And now that we’ve had an enlightening...chat, I imagine I can attempt to return to my case.”

Molly stood as well, saying nothing as he headed to her door, unsure what else to say or do at that point. 

“Thank you as usual, Molly,” he added brightly while hastening to leave. “Your willingness to help is always much appreciated.”

She stayed rooted in place, a bit dumbstruck as he took his leave and the door shut behind him. That was odd to say the least.

Molly eventually collapsed back on the couch, touching her lips and frowning to herself as every angle of question and concern raced through her mind. She glanced over at Toby who watched her lazily from a nearby armchair. 

“You saw all that, right?” she asked the sleepy feline.

He meowed almost silently and then laid his head back down, little or no interest in whatever was going on with his person.

“Right,” she muttered to herself. “Just making sure that wasn’t the most realistic fantasy I’ve ever had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap, looks like someone was programmed with mad snogging skills lol! More fun on the plotting horizon if I can keep myself motivated, so let’s hope for that. :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important chapter and multiple reasons to hate me lie ahead. To any who still remember what this fic is even about...bless you. And to those who are like “High Functioning what now??” Well, I’m right there with you. I myself had to give some things a re-read in order to update lol!  
> Thanks a bunch for looking this over, dear Lexie! ;)

Sherlock barely registered the process of getting home, getting from point A to point B. His brain was clearly functioning on default. Doing what he’d done a hundred times but not truly absorbing the particulars along the way. He hadn’t really noticed, being far too deep in thought.

But it was frustratingly unproductive thought in his estimation. The sort that went round and round to no specific end or goal. That always left him feeling a bit muddled. Because he should be able to think himself out of anything.

So why not this?

Humans and the relationships they held between themselves were so terribly complex, he thought as he entered his flat and shut the door. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d crossed an invisible but vital barrier that day, stepping into territory which was both unfamiliar and incredibly dangerous. Reflecting honestly, he’d likely been careless in taking that step. He should have watched his footing, tread more carefully every inch of the way. 

Sherlock was surrounded and immersed, day in and day out, in the human world and those who inhabited it. To live the life he was given and work in the way that he loved, it was vital to blend in to some degree. But there were some lines that couldn’t be crossed. Or more accurately,  _ shouldn’t _ be crossed. And it wasn’t just for his own benefit and protection. No, he considered that it was mostly for others.

It was rather shocking how quickly those simple guidelines had left his mind. And if it were shocking to him, it occurred to him that perhaps there was some shock on Molly’s end as well.

Contrary to popular belief of many, Sherlock had the ability to read people. Yes, he missed some things. But he wasn’t completely unaware. He’d known Molly rather well for some years, and he also knew the soft spot she had for him...he could see it. He simply chose not to dwell on it, analyze it, or God forbid acknowledge it. There was nothing to gain by doing so, no benefit to either of them. It was something he’d just come to accept while also moving swiftly along, rather easily actually.

Suddenly though, it wasn’t so easy. 

Was she angry? Was she hurt? Was she doing that thing he’d seen her do with other men where she went round and round trying to figure them out and what they truly want? Or perhaps most jarring of all...was she happy?

As his processing reached the point of questioning how Molly might be reacting to what happened between them, he decided it was time to think about something else. Dipping his toes into those waters was more than he was willing to get into at the moment. That made it the perfect time to sit down and face that photograph-filled shoebox once again.

Sherlock glanced at his kitchen table, everything just as he’d left it when he rushed out some hours before. He picked up some of Bobby Thorson’s recovery photos, examining them again before setting them aside. 

It definitely struck him as odd that someone would have a collection of this sort. A specially selection of memories that literally pictured...suffering. The young man apparently struggled with the idea of being a cyborg. Perhaps it was some nitwit therapist’s idea to help him come to terms with this life change. What might hold more meaning than the existence of such a box and the pictures it held, was why it got sent to Bobby’s friend. 

If Bobby truly had sent it, perhaps he was indeed trying to give his friend some sort of message; a cry for help or hint that he’d taken his own life. And if someone else had sent it...well, that had all sorts of possible meaning. 

He hadn’t even gotten all the way through the box of pictures when looking at them earlier though, so naturally the first thing to do was to make sure every single one of those were filed away in his mind. Most of the rest were much like what he’d already seen, once he examined them. It ended up that it wasn’t actually the photographs that especially caught his attention. It was what lay underneath. 

Once removing the last of the photographs, Sherlock instantly discarded them, his gaze focused instead on the bottom inside of the box. There, written in marker, was an address and a message. The message simply stated, “Come find what’s lost.” 

Sherlock was pretty sure where that address was, or at least the general area. He glanced at his watch and sighed. It was late, too late to poke around in some unknown place. He didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. But first thing tomorrow he decided he’d set out to investigate. 

He fully intended to do just as that message said. 

* * *

The next morning, standing at the dead end of an out of the way street, Sherlock glanced at the faded numbers on the brick building in front of him, confirming he was in the right place. It was originally an old mill, perhaps later used as something like office space. But it seemed to him that it hadn’t been in use anytime recently and was now probably destined to be a pile of rubble.

For a split second before he approached the door, it did occur to him that nobody else even knew he was here. Technically it might be wise to call for backup, seeing as he had no idea what he’d find upon entering. John was busy with Mary though, and he had no desire to involve Scotland Yard till he’d got to the bottom of this. Whatever this was, he felt confident he could handle it on his own.

He pulled the heavy steel door open, finding it unlocked, which he found interesting. This building was likely deemed unsafe, so not typically the type of place that would be left open and accessible to the general public. But he suspected it wasn’t left open for the general public...it was left open for him.

After thinking on the topic since the night before, he’d concluded that whoever was responsible for what happened to Bobby Thorson was also very much aware specifically that Sherlock was the one looking for answers. And it was as if those answers were now being held out to him for the taking. Suddenly a bit too easy, which made him wonder if something more difficult was just around the corner.

He stepped inside the door, revealing a set of stairs immediately in front of him which he promptly climbed. The door at the top opened up to a large and empty room. Almost empty...except for a lone fold out chair in the center of the room.

Sherlock walked inside, the steps of his dress shoes echoing on the well used concrete floor. It was dark and quiet, but Sherlock’s eyes darted back and forth, picking up the presence of some sort of technology. And sure enough, as he neared the chair, he heard a gentle whirring as flashes of light appeared against one of the blank walls. A large area of the wall lit up...displaying a screen. 

Sherlock frowned, at first wondering what device this screen was projecting from, but only another moment later he realized that what he was looking at wasn’t an actual computer screen. It was  _ recorded footage _ of a computer screen. 

His eyes scanned the screen rapidly, trying to figure out what relevance this had to his case. But he didn’t get too far because the little cursor moved over and opened a file on the screen entitled “Vlog.” The window that popped up revealed a long list of sub files, each with a date. The earliest one was dated about eight years earlier, June twentieth of two thousand seventy three. And that was exactly where the cursor moved next. 

There were all sorts of things running through Sherlock’s processors by that moment. Why he’d been brought there, who had sent him that message, what would be revealed about Bobby Thorson’s whereabouts, and of course now whose computer screen he was currently viewing. All those questions were what he hoped to uncover as his eyes were glued to the image on the concrete wall. What he didn’t expect, and what derailed almost every other one of those thoughts in his mind, was the stilled opening image of the video that popped up when that first little file was clicked on. 

The last thing he expected was to suddenly be staring at Molly Hooper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it was on the short side, yes there were no sherlolly interactions, and yes this is a cliffy ending in the extreme. But hopefully you’re also just thinking, yay for an eventful update!! XD I don’t want to make any promises because I’ve been falling short in writing lately, but I will say that I’ve already started ch 9. In the meantime though, would love to hear any possible thoughts on this chapter hehehe...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok readers, not a long chapter, but big things ahead! I’ll say no more...

Sherlock blinked, processing and reprocessing the fact that it was Molly on the screen before his eyes. What did this have to do with Bobby Thorson? 

In the split second before the cursor moved over to click play, he deduced that this wasn’t the Molly he knew. Oh it was Molly Hooper, but just not from today. So clearly the date which labeled this video file was the date on which it was recorded, eight years prior. A fact which was about to be confirmed by the little lips he knew so well.

“Twentieth of June, two thousand seventy three,” Molly stated, smiling into the camera. “This has been an awfully exciting day. It’s the happiest I’ve felt in- gosh I dunno, maybe over a year.”

She sighed heavily and Sherlock stepped a bit closer to the screen.

“I got offered a job today. Well, took a job actually. It was a bit of a whirlwind! A man called me and asked me some questions. It made me a little nervous at first, to be perfectly honest. He knew things I wouldn’t expect, about me and my work with cybernetics...and even my dad.”

Sherlock recalled that her father had died in two thousand seventy two. 

“He said he needed my particular skills for a project, an awfully special one. He knew about my studies in cybernetics, specifically within the brain, and said I was exactly what he needed. Naturally I was a bit hesitant, considering recent...failures.”

She paused, looking down for a moment before facing the camera again. Her emotion was almost palpable.

“But then I thought more about it and you see, for the first time...I didn’t feel like a complete failure.” She smiled, her lips giving way to a very slight quiver. “I couldn’t save him- my dad. But maybe all my time and effort, everything I studied since then, and everything I developed could be some use after all. Maybe I can save someone else. Maybe I can be what they need.” 

That entry was halted suddenly as the cursor hit the pause button and Sherlock was so engrossed that he actually exclaimed “No!” But just as quickly the cursor navigated back to the file list and picked out another vlog entry, this one not even two weeks later. 

Molly’s face once again illuminated the projection screen as the she began speaking.

“Phew! This is...well, it’s quite a job. Keeping me busy! It’s quite a lot of pressure actually. And I feel a bit like Dr Frankenstein,” she added with a little laugh. “There’s a lot of good things about it, really. Not only is the pay awfully good, but I feel like I’m doing something truly positive. I mean, if this works I could be giving a man his life back!”

She paused, looking away and biting her lip for a second. 

“I want that for him,” she said softly.

Sherlock frowned, something in her tone striking him deep.

“I mean, I know I don’t actually know him. Not really,” Molly clarified, tucking hair behind her ears almost nervously. “But I sort of feel like I’m starting to very slowly, mostly from what his family shared. He just...he fascinates me already.” She shrugged. “It makes me look forward to the first time I get to actually have a conversation with him.”

She laughed again, actually turning a little pink.

“I suppose if I’m honest I have to admit that I already talk to him sometimes when we’re alone. But gosh, I would so love to hear his voice answer me! I wonder what it sounds like…Well, anyway! Just wanted to say things are going well and we’re making progress. Slow but steady. We’ve got to be rather cautious after all. Reviving a man’s brain is no small feat!”

The blasted cursor struck again, cutting that video off and choosing another. Sherlock clenched his teeth in frustration. He wasn’t being shown everything. Some entries were being skipped over and the ones he was seeing were only pieces. It was difficult to put those pieces together when other things still seemed to be missing. Molly obviously wasn’t speaking about Bobby, given the timing. But it seemed clear that whoever it was she was speaking about...he needed to know.

If he dug down deep, part of him already did.

“August second, two thousand seventy three,” Molly said, sniffling a little. She sat back in her desk chair with a huff, wiping at her eyes. “I dunno what I’ve gotten myself into.”

Sherlock stepped closer still, watching her intently as she took a moment to compose herself and drew a deep breath.

“I can’t walk away, I’d never be able to do that. It’s hard to do things exactly as I’ve been told but, I mean...what choice do I have?” She shook her head. “I keep telling myself that it’s still better this way. It’s still a kindness to give him a life of some sort instead of leaving him to nothingness in a hospital bed for who knows how long.”

She paused once more, looking distraught again.

“I just don’t want to lie to him,” she added in a whisper.

Sherlock’s fists were clenched at his sides now, so hard that his palms were beginning to ache. He anticipated the next video this time though, no surprise when the cursor came along and stole the rest of that one from him. By now he was beginning to understand. He was being shown somewhat frustrating bits and pieces, yes. But it wasn’t actually with the intent to confuse and frustrate. He was quite obviously being shown the very bits and pieces that  _ he _ needed to see. 

Molly sat down as she turned the camera on, looking far less emotional this time. Though her eyes were burning with a strange sort of excitement.

“August twenty first, two thousand seventy three,” she said quickly. “I think...I think I’ve figured it out. I think I’ve finally come up with a way to bring him back without taking all of who he is away. I’ve developed the technology to include something like...seeds within the brain’s cybernetic program. They’ll be indetectable, especially to anyone who doesn’t understand these things. But they’ll be there, planted safely, and with some time and a bit of cognitive cultivation if you will, they could grow. It may be difficult, painful even, but I think he should be given some of those things he once had. The emotion and sensitivity.”

She smiled softly. “His brother thinks it will all be too much for him, that he won’t be able to handle it. But I don’t agree. Everything his parents said about him, it wasn’t emotional weakness, it was strength! It might take some time but I want him to be the man he was always supposed to be, before his injuries. He’s going to figure out the truth eventually anyway, and nothing will ever convince me that his capacity to feel so deeply won’t help him along the way in that journey. I won’t take that from him completely…I won’t.”

“So…” She sighed and shrugged one little shoulder. “Tomorrow is supposed to be the big day. Hopefully that’s it and all goes well when we sort of flip the switch. A small part of me wants to run away after it’s done, disappear and hope that what I’ve done is enough and avoid seeing all that happens from here on. But...most of me wants nothing more than to be here for all of it. I want to see him grow and learn and just...become him again. And I want to know him. God, I want to know him so much.”

Molly paused for a long moment before smiling again, and it gave him chills the way he could swear she was looking directly at him.

“I can’t wait to really meet Sherlock Holmes.”

The wall went black, the projection disappearing in the blink of an eye. All Sherlock could hear was his own unsteady breath for what seemed like an eternity. He stared blankly in front of him, every word he’d just heard playing and replaying again in his mind... _ his mind _ .

A quiet shuffle back at the doorway halted his thoughts and made him whirl round.

“Mycroft,” he hissed, eyes burning as he raised an accusing finger to point. “What sort of sick game is this?!”

Sherlock noted instantly that he’d never seen his brother more genuinely afraid. Judging from that, he’d been standing there a while. 

Mycroft Holmes shook his head slowly, raising his hands slightly in innocence. “I had no part in this.”

“Then what the  _ hell _ are you doing here?!”

“I received a note this morning, from you supposedly, requesting that I meet you here at this time. Obviously it was in fact  _ not _ from you.“ Mycroft face fell, a mix of sadness and despair shrouding his features. “Though I feel rather confident in guessing who it was from. And who orchestrated this little display for your benefit.”

“My God,” Sherlock murmured. “Moriarty.”

Mycroft chuckled sardonically. “Oh, brother mine...if it were only that simple. Come with me, Sherlock,” he requested, turning to exit the room. “The time has come for us to take a long drive.”

The immediate feelings running through Sherlock were rage and confusion, wondering what on earth his brother - or anyone else- might be playing at. But, the burning curiosity that drove most of his life won out, and Sherlock was awfully quick to follow. 

* * *

“And you believe Eurus is behind all of this? This...sister of...ours.” The words were all still so incredibly unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

“Nobody else could have done it all,” Mycroft replied without hesitance. “Partly because, of course there are only a select few who are fully aware of the entire history of our family.”

“I still don’t understand-“

“Yes I know,” Mycroft said calmly. “But you will. Because we’re almost there.”

Sherlock tried to hold his questions, sensing that they’d be pointless till they reached this supposed enlightening location. 

Not long after, the driver pulled down a long pathway, overgrown and unkempt. It took a couple minutes to get to the end, which eventually revealed a clearing...and a house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is a really good time to tell you guys that I have already written ch 10 lol. We’re part way there to all questions being answered but ch 10 will bring it all together a little better. I will definitely post it in just a few days, so stay tuned! And in the meantime, I’m sure you have thoughts (especially some of you smarties who have forced me to word my response to comments very carefully lol) and I’d love to hear them. Thanks as always for the kind feedback! And a thank you to Lexie who checked out both 9 and 10 tonight and gave it the thumbs up. ;D


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! Here we go with part two of the Sherlock back story reveal! I’m hoping you guys enjoy my AU version of the family history because from the beginning of this fic I’ve been kinda excited about all this stuff lol. Read on and enjoy! :D

Sherlock stepped out almost the same second the vehicle came to a full stop, shutting the door and walking forward a few steps to stare up at the structure. Fog had rolled in despite there being plenty of daylight left, weaving in and out of the dilapidated structure. In fact, nearly half of it seemed gone, leaving behind nothing but ghosts. 

“There was a fire,” Sherlock muttered, mostly to himself. 

“There was, yes,” Mycroft confirmed, following to stand next to him. “Rather bad one actually. I was long at university by then. You were, oh, about sixteen. Our parents hesitated to leave you and Eurus behind, but they were asked to an overnight event in the city for father’s company. It seemed too important to miss and I...foolishly...assured them things would be fine.”

Sherlock watched as Mycroft fell silent, eyes fixed on the charred and forgotten house.

“You had a friend here with you as well. His name was Victor Trevor.”

Sherlock frowned, a horrible feeling already spreading in his chest. “Was?”

Mycroft drew a deep breath. “Eurus trapped you both, separately actually, in areas of the house. You were somewhere upstairs and Victor was in the cellar. She said afterward that convinced you to play-”

“Blind Man’s Bluff” Sherlock said suddenly, barely knowing before the words left his mouth. But once he’d said it, he was sure that’s how it happened. Like remembering pieces of a dream.

Mycroft nodded. “It seemed that you’d been left alone upstairs and during that time Eurus had started the fire, nearer to where Victor was hiding and where she likely trapped him in. Unbeknownst to you, but the time you went in search of them and realized what was going on, it seems likely that Victor was already dead. Died of smoke inhalation according to the autopsy, which would have happened a while before the actual collapse.”

“And that’s how I…”

“You were caught under an unbelievable amount of rubble when a whole section of the house came crashing down, as well as having taken in a massive amount of smoke of course,” he explained. The fog floated around the house as if mimicking the horrors that brought its ruin. “Eurus had begun the fire in both her room and the cellar, there was no chance to stop anything, even though the housekeeper in the lodge saw the flames right away. Emergency crews hardly expected to pull anyone out alive. Miraculously though...you were. But just barely. To say your body was broken would be an understatement, requiring several surgeries to repair internal damage, as well as a number of eventual plastic surgeries. The missing piece though, was the repair of your brain. Doctors found almost no brain activity, and the prognosis, should we have done nothing but repair you from the neck down, was not good.”

Mycroft absently kicked a rotted piece of wood. “We all agreed; our parents, myself, and uncle Rudy, that we couldn’t just leave you in that state forever. Eurus was whiskey away to where she could do no further harm, of course, and Uncle Rudy and myself were especially convinced that there would be a way to revive you...fully. With all the advancements at our disposal, there had to be some way to use cybernetic technology to repair not just the mechanics of your body, but the function of your mind.”

“Molly,” Sherlock stated simply, all the unspoken meaning hanging on that one little name. 

“Yes, but only after years of failed attempts,” Mycroft admitted. “Keep in mind, Molly was a school child when all of this first happened. You spent the better part of ten years in the care of specialists and machinery at one of our family’s homes. Uncle Rudy and I spent years researching option after option, each one failing in some respect. We simply didn’t possess enough of the needed skill, and there were precious few who did that were willing to take on something so risky. Eventually I was left on my own to find the answers, Uncle Rudy having passed as well. You were about twenty five when I finally read an article in an advanced science blog that featured Dr Hooper. It focused largely on the recent death of her father.”

“He had a brain tumor,” Sherlock recalled. “And I believe he too was a scientist.”

“He was. Apparently he and Molly worked together for nearly two years on plans to repair his brain cybernetically after the tumor was removed. The placement and size of his tumor was such that removal would likely have killed him, or left him completely brain dead. Other treatments could only do so much.”

“I thought he died of a stroke.”

“He did,” Mycroft confirmed. “So essentially, all their research and plans were for nothing. The tumor unexpectedly caused a massive stroke and Molly’s father was never revived, meaning they never even got a chance to attempt to save him. Rather frustrating for Dr. Hooper, but it made her the perfect candidate for your case.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. “And then you all got together and decided to lie to me. How perfect!”

“You were not there, Sherlock,” Mycroft bit back. “You don’t know what the process was like. Obviously you would learn the truth one day, but I wanted it to be gradually. I wanted it to happen on your own terms. That is always how you have processed things best.”

He laughed humorlessly. “On  _ my _ terms? None of this is on my terms! Our psychopathic sister revealed the truth to me! That was meant to be the gentle way, hm?”

Mycroft sighed. “Uncle Rudy had initially taken care of Eurus. I hoped to keep tabs on her...keep her at a distance. But that didn’t work. She escaped the institute she was in after another fire when she was a teenager, and it took more trouble than anyone thought to catch her again. It was decided that she would have to be contained more fully and there she has remained to this day. And there’s something else…”

“Enlighten me!” Sherlock exclaimed with the flourish of his hand. “Seems to be the day for it.”

“Do you recall we’ve told you that your sort of A.I. technology is completely unique and there was only one of you ever made? That after you, the humanoid A.I. plans were abandoned? Well, naturally that wasn’t true. You never were completely A.I. to begin with. But the statement itself wasn’t a lie. There was one made, and he was the only one. Truly unique, and in many ways...so like you.”

His blood ran cold, memories coming back to him and suddenly being seen in a completely new light. Yes, of course.

“Moriarty.”

Mycroft nodded. “Exactly. And the reason for his design and manufacturing was...you. Eurus made him.”

“For Her Majesty’s Pleasure?” Sherlock spat out.

Mycroft bristled. “We had thought she could provide help, but in hindsight her motives were much more personal. It was clear she’d sent you a sort of toy to play with, a life size puzzle to solve. She knew you, and also knew that by then you’d been enhanced both physically and mentally, so I believe she felt you needed something truly special in order to challenge and entertain you. Thankfully, the situation took care of itself.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw in anger all over again. “And you shared  _ none of this _ with me. You didn’t warn me, prepare me, help me...nothing!”

“He was still just a machine...and you are not,” his brother replied calmly. “You had the upper hand, even though you believed it was because your roles were reversed.”

“And how much did  _ she _ know?”

Something in Sherlock’s eyes must have made it quite clear which  _ she _ he was referring to. Mycroft didn’t need to ask. 

“Dr. Hooper knew precious little about Moriarty. I didn’t feel it necessary to burden her. In fact, I have shared only as much information with her over the years as I felt was absolutely necessary. Any more could easily put her at greater risk. And she already is at some risk as one of your close friends, as I imagine you can now guess.”

Sherlock scoffed quietly. “Close friend indeed...and John and Mary, what do they know?”

“John Watson believes exactly as he has always been told. That you are a machine. A unique and human-like one, but a machine nonetheless. As for Mary, I honestly cannot say. She has certainly never been told any different, but with her particular skill set-“

“She may know more than she’s saying,” Sherlock finished in agreement. “Especially now.”

He was silent for just a moment, considering that there were dozens more questions to be asked and information to gather. But for now, frankly he’d had just about enough. Except for one more thing…

“In her vlogs, Molly essentially stated that you instructed her to wipe my more intense emotional capabilities in some sort of effort to make things easier for me. Care to comment?” He kept his tone controlled.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. “As I said, Sherlock, you weren’t there. It seemed a kindness at the time. Our options were limited, and I had no desire to give up completely. Though obviously Dr. Hooper had other plans,” he said with a small eye roll. “I suspected she might have attempted something beyond my instructions, but again, I was limited and we couldn’t do without her. I took the chance of keeping her on board, despite the fact that she was so obviously emotionally compromised and far from indifferent. Perhaps this all would have been easier for you if-“

“Mycroft, do not be confused by the fact that I am standing here having a conversation with you and have yet to punch your teeth into your skull. That is only because it would make getting information out of you terribly difficult. Now that I’ve gotten all I want for the time being and I no longer need you standing and conscious...I suggest for your sake that you drive me back to the city now.”

His brother looked him over seriously, determining the level of sincerity, and then gestured to the vehicle with a tight smile.

Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes got back into the shiny black car, walking away from the broken down structure that they once called home. It seemed a different lifetime, a different world, and they both certainly felt like different people. 

* * *

It was barely a conscious decision, where he headed. All he knew was that he no longer felt completely comfortable in his own skin. He couldn’t sit in his flat, do anything he normally did, not without being overwhelmed with the feeling that he didn’t know himself anymore. What he craved at the moment was the cessation of thought.

And so upon being dropped at Baker St, he promptly walked off again, automatically shying away from the quiet of his flat where his mind would run wild. Instead, Sherlock made his way back to a place where he’d already been quite recently. A place with plenty of noise, distraction, and chaos which was wholly unconnected to him and his life.

Sherlock marched into that club with a singular focus, shoving past anyone in his way who offered drinks, or women who offered company. He went straight to the boxing ring, hurrying to the little table to sign up with a quick scribble of his name. The night hadn’t properly begun yet, slim pickings, so his name was called in no time at all.

He climbed up into the ring, almost violently tugging the buttons of his shirt open and pulling it off his shoulders to throw over the rope. He was offered some protective gear but gruffly refused. He felt like he was suffocating and couldn’t bear the thought at the moment. Besides, it occurred to him that what he really wanted was just to feel...everything.

And feel he did, with the first contact of his opponent’s fist to the side of his face. He felt his heart race, his skin sweat, his respiration speed up, and adrenaline flood every inch of his body. He felt all of it, and for the first time he could remember, it didn’t confuse him. Sherlock simply experienced it all, drank it in and gave it right back. 

The blood, sweat, and exertion only fueled him. Partly keeping that anger and bitterness still boiled under his skin, and he’d deal with that soon. But in the moment it also simply made him feel so undeniably alive. 

And at long last, he knew that feeling was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I’ve said a million times, hopefully I get the next one out somewhat soon haha. I’m sure everyone is missing Molly at this point, and trust me, I am too! I promise that Molly is coming back in ch 11 because obviously there’s some things that need to be seriously dealt with lol. Drama lurks on the road ahead! ;)  
> Again, thank you to Lexie (and also Ao3 name PillowSlave!) because they’re tirelessly helping me work the rest of this plot out. It’s not for the faint of heart. XD


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was a fast update compared to previous ones lol! This is another chapter I’ve definitely been looking forward to getting to. No doubt, it’s an important plot moment for Sherlock and Molly. I’ll stop setting it up and just let you read... ;)

Molly was a little shocked when she heard the fiddling at her door at nearly midnight as she finished kitchen cleanup before a late bedtime. She knew the noises and knew who it must be, but she hadn’t really expected to see him back for a while. Not after what had happened a couple days before. She hadn’t deluded herself into believing something about their relationship had suddenly changed, but it seemed pretty clear that what happened left him in need of processing. Maybe more than he understood.

What was more surprising was the state of him as he actually opened the door and stepped inside.

“Oh my God!” Molly exclaimed, instantly setting the last dish down and rushing over to where he stood shrugging off his coat. “Sherlock, what happened?! Were you on a case?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” he replied with somewhat dismissive sniff. The coat was hung on the hook haphazardly and fell to the floor as he walked off toward the sofa.

Molly frowned, already sensing something off. She picked the coat up, hanging it properly.

“Well, um, why don’t you stay there. Let me just get my kit and I’ll be right back,” she explained to the figure who’d already casually reclined against the pillows.

She hurried to the bathroom, retrieving her medical kit, complete with typical equipment and cybernetic tools. If she were honest, it wasn’t her medical kit. It was Sherlock's. It wasn’t as if she ever used it for anything else. 

When Molly came back out to the sitting room she found him unbuttoning his bloodstained shirt and slipping it from his shoulders, the sorry state of his torso much like that of his face. He clearly saw her pause.

“You’ll need access to it  _ all _ I imagine,” Sherlock pronounced with a crooked little smile. “Face, body, control panel...certainly nothing you haven’t seen before!”

She tilted her head in mild confusion as she approached the sofa and took a seat. The moment she was that close to him though, her small frown deepened considerably.

“Have you been drinking?” 

“Pff! Just a few pints,” he said with a laugh. “What’s the matter,  _ doctor _ ? Problem?” 

“You know what the problem is,” Molly bit back. “I’ve told you to be careful with alcohol intake, your body-“

“Mm, yes of course, can’t process too much of it,” he stated for her with the roll of his eyes. “How could I forget?”

“We can talk about all of that later,” she said with a sigh while arranging some cotton swabs and antiseptic. “You’re clearly not in the right state to have a mature conversation. Let’s just get you fixed up so you can go home and get some sleep.”

“But what if that’s not why I’m here?”

Molly’s gaze shot up to his as she reached for the first ugly looking scrape on his chest. The treated cotton swab made contact with his skin and she felt his muscles involuntarily tighten as he continued watching her. Maybe best not to play into that statement.

“Regardless, you need cleaning up. Sorry, this’ll sting some of your receptors,” she stated flatly. 

“Mm, yes... _ amazing _ how that works, isn’t it?” he drawled quietly, laying his head back against the pillow as she gently cleaned, almost as if reveling in the sensation.

“Were you with John?” Molly asked, carefully placing some steri-strips across a cut on his stomach. “You haven’t explained what happened yet.”

“I went to a club, enjoyed a couple of boxing matches, had a few pints, and I got a cab,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Nobody else was with me...as I wanted it.”

“Well that was stupid,” she spat back, tossing some used swabs into a nearby bin. “All of it. But especially being on your own. What if you’d gotten  _ really _ badly injured? What then?”

He shrugged, his tone becoming inexplicably snide. “What’s the worst that could happen? Surely nothing  _ you _ can’t fix...with all your  _ skills _ .”

Molly nervously met his gaze, but only for a second. She didn’t like what she saw looking back at her. It made her face flush self consciously and her blood run cold in fear, even more so than any of the words coming out of his mouth.

She tried for silence, deciding to move onto the next visible wound. Her fingers touched the side of his neck where he’d gotten a nasty scrape, on the boxing ring ropes was her best guess. 

“Mm, right there,” he murmured, sitting up a bit. “That place on the side of my neck...interesting how it causes such a pronounced physical reaction. A pleasant shiver all over, goose bumps on my skin...see?”

He lifted his arm, displaying the evidence. 

“And something tells me that you’d exhibit the very. Same. Reaction,” he stated pointedly, lifting his hand and running the back of his fingers down the very same spot on her neck.

Molly sucked a breath through her nose, shutting her eyes momentarily and naturally feeling the pleasant rush of the kind of shiver he’d just described. Her eyes popped open again, finding his watching her, studying her, almost unnervingly close. 

“Fascinating,” Sherlock whispered, his lips lifting in a somewhat smug little smile. “How impressively alike we are in response to a tiny but complex thing like touch. Wouldn’t you say?”

She released a shaky breath that she’d barely been aware she was holding, finally setting down the items in her hands as she decided not to deny what was happening a moment longer.

“H-how did you...figure it out?” Her voice was so small, she could barely hear herself. 

“ _ You _ , actually.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh not to worry,” Sherlock added with a wave of his hand. “You’re not in trouble with  _ big brother _ if that’s what you’re thinking. But someone else did show me your vlogs.”

Now her eyes nearly popped from her head. 

“What?! My vlogs are- they’re private! That’s my- how would anyone have access to that?” Every mortifying word she’d ever spoken in front of that little camera came flooding back to her in less than ten seconds.

“That’s a bit of a long story actually. And it’s one I imagine my brother will be debriefing you on first thing tomorrow since you two work  _ so _ closely. I’ll leave that fun to him,” he said with a little wink, jumping up from the sofa to stroll around her flat a bit.

She stood along with him. “Sherlock, listen, what I’ve done all these years-“

“Is  _ lie to me _ !” He practically roared, whirling back to face her. “What? Is that not what you’d call it?!”

Molly rolled a million different phrasing combinations around in her mouth, hesitating when each one sounded not quite right. 

“I...I was just- I was trying to help,” she attempted, which didn’t nearly cover it.

Sherlock laughed humorlessly. “Help! You wanted to help me by feeding me an entire identity that was false? How would that ever help?!”

“It- it wasn’t the lie that was supposed to help. That was temporary of course! Even your brother knew it was only a matter of time until-“

“Until I realized my existence was a lie and nobody cared enough to tell me the truth!”

“He was just worried that it would be too much, and he made me promise to wait and-“

“And naturally you just listened, just went along with his instructions, doing just as you were told! Because after all...he’s the one signing the check, isn’t he?!”

That did it.

Every ounce of pity for the man in front of her, and every bit of guilt she felt for the part she’d played in his current state, flitted away with those words. She was done being cast as the villain.

“You bastard,” Molly hissed through grit teeth. “You listen to-“

“Why should I listen to you when-“

“ _ Shut up! _ ” she practically screamed. “You’re going to shut up and listen to me now! Don’t you dare...don’t you  _ dare _ accuse me of being loyal to your brother and to any money he paid me, which by the way, was long paid many years ago and has never been paid since. I haven’t  _ worked _ for him since before you were conscious! Do you know why I stuck around all this time since then? Hm?  _ You _ ! I stayed and got a job in London and made a life for myself here for you! Because I didn’t want to leave you. And I  _ hated _ lying to you, every single second of it! The only reason I listened to Mycroft in that regard was because he practically runs the country, and my fear was that if things didn’t go his way and I didn’t play by his rules, he might just have me sacked and send me packing. I couldn’t let that happen! I did what I had to do to stay here so I could  _ help you _ ! Because I-”

Her voice broke and she had to stop and look away. She wasn’t crying, adrenaline was running to strong for that. But she could barely even control her voice she was so full of emotion. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him still standing a few feet away, frozen and silent. She may well have shocked him with that level of outburst, which he’d certainly never seen from her before.  _ Good _ , she thought. She wanted to shock him, pull him from his own self centered pain, however understandable, even if just for a moment. 

“I’m done for now,” she said, much more softly. “You can leave.”

A beat and he replied, his voice also far more subdued. 

“I believe there's plenty more to-“

“I said  _ I’m _ done for now,” Molly repeated more firmly, her fiery eyes meeting his. “Please leave, Sherlock. We can talk about this more when you’re ready to do so without acting like nobody cares about you at all.” 

She turned away again and he said nothing at first, still rooted in place. It felt like an age before she finally heard him clear his throat, pick up his shirt, and slip it back over his shoulders. She refused to turn again all the while as he made his way from her flat. She considered the possibility he’d take back his biting words, apologize for being so accusatory, and ask to talk like the two adults that they were. If he had, she might very well have ushered him back into her flat, back onto her sofa, and perhaps even into a comforting embrace.

But he did not, and neither did she.

Sherlock silently left Molly’s flat that night, leaving her feeling both angry and guilty all at the same time. It took her a long time to calm down, to think clearly, to let it all really sink in. At the very least, she felt a touch of relief at the idea that it was finally over. The truth was out and it could never be taken back again. She was glad of that. Now he could move on with his life, hopefully a bit more as it always should have been. No matter his anger at the moment, she knew she’d helped give him that. But was losing him the price for doing so? In the moment, it certainly felt that way.

Maybe it was worth it, in the grand scheme of things. But for now, Molly Hooper let a few tears fall, mourning the loss of the friendship she’d had with Sherlock up till now. Sure, it was possible that they would manage a new start. But one way or another, it would be very different. Nothing, including their relationship, would ever be as it was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was angsty lol. Idk about you but I enjoyed that one. :) And NOW I’ve really gotta get myself in gear and solidify how the rest of this plot will go! Stick around because now I’ve we’ve gotta clean up this emotional mess that’s all over the place.  
> As always, a big thanks to my esteemed beta reader Lexie. <3 and also as always, I’d very much love to hear your thoughts after reading the latest. ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have we missed the Watson’s? I think so. Happy to bring them back in this chapter. Read on for another reveal! ;)

Even by the moment Sherlock opened the door downstairs, he knew. He sighed heavily and briefly considered turning and leaving again before anyone knew he’d come home. But he also knew it was pointless to prolong the inevitable. Best deal with them all now and be done with it.

“My, what an unexpected pleasure to see you all here tonight,” Sherlock drawled while entering his flat where the entire Watson family was waiting. “I can’t imagine why you’d drop by!”

“It is true then?” John questioned seriously, standing up to meet his friend.

Sherlock leisurely removed his coat and jacket before walking over to collapse somewhat messily in his chair. He gestured inarticulately in answer.

“My God,” John muttered, shaking his head with unbroken gaze at the man who he knew far less than he realized. “When Mycroft called and told me, I thought-“

“It was some cruel joke?” Sherlock chuckled. “Mm, does seem a far more likely explanation. And yet, how likely was it that I was some sort of scientific marvel of a machine while also being so completely human-like? Apparently both my real history and my fake one are equally unbelievable.”

Sherlock peered past John to where Mary sat holding a sleeping Rosie. He pointed to her with a little smirk on his face.

“Though,  _ you _ don’t find the truth quite so shocking, do you?”

Mary gave him a soft smile. “I had my suspicions.”

John whirled to look at her, wide eyed. “ _ That’s _ why you took a bullet for him! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I didn’t know anything for certain,” Mary clarified. “But from the work I’ve done and everything I’ve seen, I know people and I know machines...and he wasn’t just a machine. I couldn’t put my finger on all the specifics but I had a gut feeling that there was something we didn’t know. Maybe something even he didn’t know.”

“You see? What have I always told you, John?” Sherlock asked with a smirk. “She’s better.”

“Apparently,” John had to admit, finally taking a seat again.

“So I gather Mycroft called you in to keep some sort of watch over me,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Well, it’s got to be a, uh, a difficult time for you mentally and...emotionally,” John began cautiously. “Do you remember more now from, y’know, before? And do you know exactly how much of you is machine and how much is human? I feel like all of that are things you’d need to know in order tto move forward in some way.”

“Have you talked to Molly?” 

Mary’s question seemed to pierce through the surrounding thought waves and straight to the heart of the matter. Sherlock met her gaze, steady and understanding.

“I just came from her flat,” was his simple answer.

Mary let out a slightly amused little huff and shook her head. “And you mucked that up, I take it?”

His gaze narrowed stubbornly. “I quite understandably expressed my frustration at being  _ lied to _ . Naturally, she didn’t see it all from my point of view.”

“And how much did you see from hers?” Mary countered, undeterred. 

Sherlock’s jaw set tight, turning away.

“Mycroft said that Molly…” John struggled for wording. “Rebuilt you? I don’t understand. I mean, which- or rather, how much of you did she...rebuild?”

“Subtle, John,” Mary commented under her breath.

“My mind,” Sherlock answered simply. “It seems that most of my physical repair and reconstruction was done by medical doctors. There may have been some more minor physical reinforcements cybernetically, but I haven’t all the details yet. My brain though, was what truly wasn’t fully functioning. That was where Molly came in.”

“Well thank God for her,” Mary stated pointedly.

Sherlock said nothing. Yes, of course he knew Mary was right. He knew he owed Molly, well, his life. Not only had she given it back to him, but she’d also safeguarded it many times since then. It wasn’t all of that that hurt. 

It was the dishonesty. From the person he thought he could trust above all others. 

“She could have told me,” Sherlock stated very quietly.

“Maybe she couldn’t,” Mary tried gently.

“Yes, well, that’s what she claims.”

“Then I’m sure that’s the truth.”

Sherlock turned to her again, eyes aflame. “Molly spent years... _ years _ telling me that I was special, unique, one of a kind. Nothing had been made like me before, and nothing would be again. She swore that I should feel confident in exactly how I worked...and didn’t work. And all the while-“

“She never lied,” John suddenly interrupted, making Sherlock stop. “Sherlock, it sounds like she did what Mycroft told her she had to do but she never really lied about who and what you are. You  _ are _ special. There’s nobody else like you, because you’re  _ human _ . She was trying to tell you who you really are, even though she couldn’t quite spell it out.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly, looking away again. He honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it right then. Any of it. It was all so raw that he couldn’t shake the anger and hurt and see what was left underneath. 

“John’s right,” Mary added. “Maybe you need some time, but I think eventually you’ll see that.”

“I need to work,” he muttered against his steepled fingers.

John sighed. “Sherlock, you were just handed an identity and history that is completely new and unfamiliar to you. I don’t think that now is-“

“I said I  _ need to work _ ,” he repeated firmly. “That’s what I’ve always needed, and I need it now still. Nothing else makes sense or feels right yet. I can’t sit around doing nothing until it does.”

“Can you at least try and get some sleep?” John asked, a little exasperated.

“I can’t promise that,” Sherlock replied. “But you’re all certainly welcome to go home and get some before we get back to work tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Mary asked, standing with Rosie who was beginning to fuss a little. 

“I’m perfectly fine, yes,” he stated as confidently as possible. “Just go. John, I’ll text you in the morning.”

John and Mary glanced at each other, obviously trying to decide whether to listen and ultimately seeming to mutually agree to back down.

“Fine,” John finally agreed. “But I’m coming over in the morning, whether you text or not.”

“Good.” Sherlock smirked at Mary. “Make sure he’s on time.”

“I’ll kick him out bright and early,” she replied with a wink.

The moment the Watsons left, he was a little sorry. They left him alone with his thoughts, which wasn’t terribly pleasant company at the moment. He was angry with his brother, angry with his sister, who he didn’t even know, angry with Molly...and angry with himself for feeling that way. 

He reached around to the back of his neck, fingers tracing the outline of the cover to his control panel. Nearly undetectable to most people, but of course he was acutely aware of its presence all the time. And of course, so was she.

She was aware of so very much.

It occurred to him that nobody knew him like Molly, at least outside his immediate family. The thought actually unnerved him a little. She’d seen and uncovered things about him that even he didn’t know. She’d literally been inside his mind, poked around and taken control. He supposed that might actually be the answer to a question that occasionally confounded him. Some things might make a bit more sense now.

Perhaps  _ that _ was the reason why he thought about her so very often.

* * *

 

“What exactly are you planning to tell her?” John asked as they traveled by cab to Harriet Thorson’s flat. “Not about your whole...experience I imagine.”

“Obviously not,” Sherlock confirmed. “Though, I need to update her on the state of my search for her brother. And in doing so I need to find out if she has any knowledge of my sister’s involvement. It’s possible Eurus simply planted that message where she knew I’d go for evidence, but perhaps it’s more than that.” 

The cab pulled up to the building, letting the two men off near the door where they made their way inside to the correct flat.

“Sounds as if she has some company,” John commented quietly as Sherlock rang the bell.

“I imagine she’ll still want to see me,” he stated, undeterred, squaring his shoulders as they waited for the approaching footsteps to open the door.

A somewhat plain looking woman in her thirties opened the door. She wore a black dress suit and looked somewhat tired.

“Morning,” Sherlock addressed her with his charming little grin. “I’m looking for Harriet Thorson.”

The woman looked back and forth between Sherlock and John momentarily. “Yes, that’s right, I’m Harriet Thorson. And who are you?”

Sherlock frowned. “I’m- I’m Sherlock Holmes. We met some time ago, about your brother’s disappearance.”

“Sherlock…” John’s quiet voice sounded the warning just as he was peering into the flat and observing the scene of guests in black behind the woman.

She sniffed a little and tried to control her voice. “Mr, um, Holmes is it? Yes, I believe I’ve heard of you. I’m sorry, I can’t recall when we’d have met with all I’ve been dealing with of late, but I’m sorry to say that my brother’s body was discovered yesterday.”

“My God, we’re so sorry for your-“ John began but Sherlock cut in.

“You’re right, we’ve never met.”

Harriet nodded. “I appreciate you stopping by though, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps if I’d thought to come to you we wouldn’t be in this horrible-“

“You  _ didn’t _ though,” Sherlock said, restating the now obvious as a strange look developed in his eyes. But then he blinked, realizing this conversation needed to be brought to a close, so he gave the woman the most genuine smile of concern he could muster. 

“My condolences,” and he marched away from the door, leaving John to hurry his goodbye as well and follow after him and outside the building.

“Sherlock, what the-“

“I’ve never seen that woman before.”

John frowned, looking at the building again and then back at him. “Wait, so then, how did Harriet Thorson ask you to find her brother?”

Sherlock turned to John, his gaze very serious. “Because, John, the woman who came to Baker St asking me to find her brother  _ wasn’t _ Harriet Thorson.”

“So if that woman was lying, then who was she?” John questioned as Sherlock tried to hail a cab.

“Not completely lying. If I’m correct, I believe that in a way she did want me to find her brother,” Sherlock clarified, his expression clouding over in apprehension of whatever was soon to come. “But  _ she _ was the one who made sure I found him...because she was my sister.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine this chapter ending didn’t come as a HUGE shock to many of you lol. Especially as that final scene was progressing! But it was a fun little moment to write anyway. :) So! More exciting things ahead which may or may not need a little more tweaking and planning lol. But I’m awfully close and I will figure it all out soon, I promise. In the meantime, let me know your current thoughts on the latest! ;)  
> As usual, a thank you to my lovely beta reader and plotting pal, Lexie. <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll spare everyone the blabbing about how long it’s been and how sorry I am. I figure it goes without saying now lol. Read onward because there’s some thrills coming! :D

A PEACE OFFERING OF SORTS IS WAITING AT YOUR FLAT. -MH

Sherlock got his brother’s text, not surprisingly, just as the cab pulled up to 221B. Whatever manner of offering this was, he doubted it would help with what seemed to be brewing just ahead. Clearly Mycroft was not yet aware. 

What greeted him on the floor in front of his flat’s door was a small envelope, containing a single memory stick and a small note.

_ Your medical records and history from the time of the accident till the time you were brought back to consciousness. A few other memories included as well. This should answer many of your remaining questions. -M. Holmes _

Normally, Sherlock would have been in a tearing hurry to connect that memory stick to the nearest device he could get his hands on. But given the timing, he was hesitant to dive in. There were other things needing focus at the moment. 

If Eurus truly was behind many recent events and was tracking him so carefully, he thought it likely that she was also now aware he was onto her. That meant she would probably make another move sooner rather than later. Sherlock hated to admit it but this was information he’d probably have to share with Mycroft. 

He’d walked the city a long time after parting ways with John earlier that day, thought quite a bit, and then very slowly made his way back to Baker St. This whole scenario tested his mind, and felt quite a bit like when he had been dealing with Moriarty. Though, he realized that made quite a bit of sense, seeing as he was actually dealing with Moriarty’s  _ designer _ . The question was though...what did she ultimately want?

The answer to that may just be the key, if only he could figure it out.

His mobile rang just as he was considering phoning his brother and he frowned to see that it was Mary calling. It was just about when the Watsons sat down for dinner, so he was instantly unsettled.

“Mary?”

“Sherlock, I think something happened to John. He should have been home two hours ago!” He voice was a little unsteady and she paused a moment, clearly to pick up Rosie who was fussing a bit in the background. “He called me when he got in a different cab from you, after you went to see that client, and he said he’d be home soon. And before you ask, yes I checked his mobile location and it’s been turned off. His phone isn’t ringing either so that must be off as well.”

As she spoke, he stepped over to the window, observing the black car which was stopped right outside his building. It wasn’t one of Mycroft’s. Sherlock’s pulse raced as he considered his options, knowing that this had to be exactly what he’d feared. The next move had indeed been made.

“Mary, stay with Rosie,” he instructed, shoving the memory stick in his pocket and heading back out the door. “I’ll take care of this and keep you informed.”

“Absolutely not, Sherlock! I can get a sitter! That’s my husband and the father of my baby and if someone is trying to hurt him I can very easily-“

“Yes I know you can,” Sherlock agreed as he went swiftly down the steps to exit the building. “In this case though, that may not be needed. Might be more of a...family affair.” He paused. “Keep Rosamund safe, Mary. Leave John to me. Hopefully it’s nothing serious.”

Mary sighed heavily. “It better not be. I’m trusting you, Sherlock, so you’d better get him home soon or I will have to get a sitter and track you both down!”

He couldn’t help but smile a little, knowing she more than meant it.

“Understood, Mrs. Watson,” he replied genuinely before hanging up and cautiously  approaching the dark vehicle.

He got into the empty back seat, the driver’s window darkened to allow for no communication. None was needed though, he suspected. This was not a situation where he was meant to be the one instructing the driver. 

This route was already set...long before he climbed in for a ride.

* * *

Sherlock regained consciousness seemingly before he even knew he was out. And when he glanced out the car window, he was hardly surprised at where they had came to a stop.

The now familiar landscape of Musgrave Hall greeted him coolly with dead leaves blowing by and a chilly wind nipping at his face as he stepped out of the vehicle. He’d barely shut the door when the car instantly shifted back into drive and went back the way it had just come, leaving him completely alone and vulnerable. And naturally he was now without his phone or any sort of identification, clearly having been stripped of those things while he was unconscious.

He admitted to himself, as he approached the front door which had been left open, that the idea of stepping foot inside his childhood home was uncomfortable. It was one thing to stand outside and have things explained verbally, but now he’d be forced to truly  _ see _ things...perhaps relive things.

And as expected, stepping inside was, in a word, chilling. 

The remains of the building were terribly charred, along with anything that happened to have been left behind. There were pieces of furniture, remnants of wallpaper and light fixtures, and even nearly unrecognizable framed photos on the walls. Ironically, Sherlock had just stepped up to one in the large entry way and was trying to make out faces when he heard it.

Her voice.

“Don’t touch anything and best watch your footing...it’s all terribly unsteady.”

Sherlock glanced round in all directions for a moment before pausing and answering cautiously.

“Eurus? I’ve come looking for John Watson. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I need you to tell me whether he’s safe.” He kept his tone controlled, not wanting to sound either too angry or too eager. 

“John?” Eurus laughed a little. “We’re not nearly there yet. All in good time.”

Sherlock’s heart sank. He supposed it was foolish to imagine this would all be easy. 

“I see,” Sherlock replied, casual as he could manage. “And...what shall we do first then? Seeing as I’ve come all this way for a visit.”

A crackling sound met his ears and he turned, his eyes instantly noticing a picture from on the wall which didn’t match the other charred and disfigured ones around it. In the blink of an eye, the frame became the border of a screen. And on the screen...there she was.

Oh yes, he knew that face, those eyes. Flashes invaded his mind then and he could almost feel the neurons in his brain making reconnections that were nearly lost so many years ago. There was a part of all of it that felt wonderful, quite literally like coming home. 

A shame that it was all a bit tainted by the circumstances.

“Hello, Sherlock. I have missed our games,” Eurus said. “How I used to make you laugh…I don’t think you laugh as much as you used to.”

He smirked. “I gather you’ve been watching me.”

“It took you a shamefully long time to put the pieces together,” she commented, shaking her head. “It made me wonder, how well did that brain of yours get put back together? What’s different now? What’s missing? I should like to find out.”

Sherlock frowned, not liking the sound of that. “I’m sure you realize that Mycroft-“

“Is not allowed to play our little game. It’s not for him,” she stated firmly. “I thought you might bring up big brother though, so we may as well have a look and see how he’s doing. Come along!”

Sherlock heard the same crackling around the corner and followed the sound. It was difficult to distinguish based on the look of the room, but his guess was that this had been a library.

He found the noticeable frame on the wall in that room and approached it as the picture came into focus. It was Mycroft’s office...and there was Mycroft.

“He’s fine,” Sherlock said aloud in relief. 

The screen split, and then next to the view of Mycroft’s office was the view of the hallway outside of it. An android marched back and forth. A second later, and Sherlock spotted the body of a security guard lying at the far end of the hallway.

“That’s one of mine, though naturally not my best,” Eurus explained. “But I can make it do just. What. I. Command.”

With each word she made it walk back, and forth, and in either direction. 

“Big brother’s security guard couldn’t be allowed to get in the way. That was simple enough. Now to make sure that Mycroft won’t attempt to join our little party.”

Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt. He knew all of Mycroft’s security guards well. They’d worked for him for years, were dependable and honest, had families… 

His mind quickly went back to Mycroft though, because the view of his brother’s office very clearly showed a strange mist being fed under the door by Eurus’ android. 

“Wait, what is that?” Sherlock couldn’t bother to conceal panic in that moment as he saw his brother begin to cough a little. “What are you giving him?!”

“Nothing much. He’ll sleep till tomorrow and wake with a bit of a headache. He’ll live,” she explained, though her tone was hardly comforting.

“Now, that’s out of the way,” Eurus exclaimed. “And since you’ve just seen one of my simpler creations at work, I’d like to show you something else now. Follow me around the corner…”

Sherlock had a difficult time tearing his eyes from the screen, Mycroft having just collapsed over his keyboard. He knew there was nothing he could do, no way he could help from where he was. The most he could do was play along as quickly as possible and get out of here and back to the city, hopefully along with John.

Sherlock once again had to follow the electrical sound to the next room with a picture frame that housed his sister’s face. She was smiling already when he walked in. But that wasn’t what really shook him.

In that room, near the far wall, was what looked like a statue covered in a sheet. At least, he very much hoped that it was a statue. Sherlock somewhat nervously glanced at his sister.

“Well, go on, have a look,” she prompted. “Remove the sheet, because I’d very much like for you to see one of the things I made.”

Hesitantly Sherlock approached the shrouded figure, unable to help pausing in fear before actually taking hold of the fabric and giving it a tug. What he found underneath made his blood run cold for a million different and complicated reasons.

“T-Tom,” Sherlock muttered, his mouth going dry as he took an instinctive step back from the figure. 

Or at least, it looked mostly like Tom. Like someone took Tom and removed the flesh from some of his face and head and replaced it with cybernetic equipment. 

“Is he-“

“Oh not to worry,” Eurus jumped in. “This one isn’t active. This is just a prototype, before I really got him right. There’s plenty more of course. I’ve countless different prototypes stored away. I simply thought this one would be of particular interest to you. Of course you’ve seen and met the finished product already, but I thought perhaps we should check in on him right now…”

Sherlock tried to keep his heart from beating out of his chest as the screen shifted to display a city street with Tom walking along. As he watched the footage, he made a number of easy observations. Before Eurus even had uttered the question, Sherlock had the answer.

“He’s near Molly’s.” 

“Very good, Sherlock,” Eurus praised. “He is approximately...five minutes walk from Molly’s flat. And very much under my direct control.”

At that moment Tom looked right in the direction of the camera and gave a little wave, making Sherlock’s stomach turn.

“Doctor Hooper fascinates me in her own way,” Eurus stated while splitting the screen to bring Molly’s flat into view next to the casually strolling Tom. “I wonder sometimes why she did not simply program just what she wanted into your mind, if she has the ability. Instead she simply installed the  _ capacity _ for certain things. Just a  _ possibility _ , but not a guarantee.”

Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off Molly, flitting back and forth in her kitchen, unaware of anything that was going on.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Sherlock, that the cause of the trouble, the pain, the confusion over these past few years, has all really been from one source? I think you know why things have been so complicated for you.”

He shut his eyes, wishing he could unsee this footage, unhear these words, undo all of this. Frighteningly enough, it was as if his sister read his mind.

“But if something can be done...it can surely be  _ undone _ .”

Sherlock’s eyes flew open, horror painted on his features.

“Ask her to do it, Sherlock,” Eurus commanded calmly. “Make her agree before Tom reaches her flat. Because once he is there, Molly will no doubt politely let him in. And then he is programmed to act.”

Sherlock let out a sigh, glancing at the half finished AI Tom and then back at the screen. 

“I’ll call her from your phone,” Eurus explained. “And if you attempt to alert her in any way or explain what is happening, I will disconnect the call and you will not have another opportunity to make contact. Understood?”

Sherlock gave his sister a single nod, and almost immediately he could hear ringing. From the view on screen, it was clear that Molly heard it as well.

She went over and looked at her phone on the kitchen counter, seeing the caller ID, hesitating, and then walking away again. He cursed under his breath, thinking that this was truly the most horrible timing possible. If ever there was a time when Molly might avoid his phone call, this would be it. 

“Let’s give it one more try,” Eurus suggested, dialing again as Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin with anxiety.

Molly looked frustrated, especially seeing a second call in a row. He could tell this wouldn’t be easy even from the way she swiped her phone off the counter. Not that something like this would be easy anyway, considering he was about to make one of the most hurtful request he’d ever made of her. And he realized as she finally answered his call that it was rather important that he make it as hurtful as possible, no matter how hard it would be for him. 

Perhaps the more it hurt, the more readily she’d agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys...you have no idea how long I agonized over setting up this “sherrinford-ish” scene. It was a long time ok lol. I wanted to go different, so don’t expect to exact a parallel, as I’m sure you can already tell. And I know I left this at a killer cliff hanger, but I’ll try to get the next one out very soon. Do feel free to politely harass me! ;)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have my very AU version of TFP Phone Call! I amped up the pain and took out big canon focal points but hopefully you guys still enjoy it and feel like it’s fitting, given the universe this fic is in. Read on! :D

Maybe he was calling to apologize. 

That was honestly the only reason Molly reconsidered ignoring his phone call a second time in a row. She was still angry and hurt, and she wasn’t in the mood to be the one to make peace. For the first time in a long while she had decided it was his turn to bend and her needs that had to be met.

“Hi, Sherlock,” she answered somewhat curtly. 

“Molly, hello,” he replied, a strange pause following. “There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

A little tension in her shoulders released at his words. Perhaps he really was trying to make things right. 

“I need a favor, actually,” he added, which instantly made her heart sink.

“Sherlock, this isn’t exactly the moment to ask for a favor. Why don’t we both take some more time to cool off and talk again next week, ok?”

She just barely moved the phone from off her ear, and the shift in his tone and words became more than noticeable. 

“Molly, no please! Please don’t hang up, this is incredibly important!”

She chewed her lip, repositioning the phone on her ear despite the mounting irritation. 

“Fine,” she sighed. “What’s so important?”

Another pregnant pause.

“It’s um...it’s about what you did for me- for my mind.”

Molly frowned to herself. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Molly, it’s been...it’s all been rather difficult since then.”

“Well, I know, but it’ll get easier now that you know everything and there’s no more secrets to-“

“No, not since finding out. I mean, it’s been difficult since I woke up again.”

It was Molly’s turn to pause then. She blinked, trying to process what he was implying. 

“Do you mean you’ve been confused? That’s understandable. You didn’t know everything about yourself.”

“Look, Molly, the point is that I’ve given this quite a bit of thought and I’d like you to...undo it.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Undo what? Am I supposed to put you back in a coma?”

“No, that’s not what I mean!” The frustration in his voice was coming through loud and clear. “I need you to do what my...what my brother had originally asked you to do.”

Molly frowned to herself, her voice sounding smaller this time. “Sherlock you- you don’t want me to do that.”

“I do.”

She shook her head, opening her mouth twice to reply before words actually came out. 

“Sherlock, that’s risky. You don’t want me fishing around in there all over again, and for what? You’re fine as you are and-“

“No, I’m not,” he stated firmly. “The capacity for emotion and feeling that you put in me, I don’t need it. More importantly...I don’t want it.”

“You don’t...you don’t mean that,” she whispered, wanting to convince herself just as much as him.

“There’s no benefit to it. I don’t need or want that sort of sentimental capacity. I’d be better off, more efficient, more  _ content _ , without it.”

Molly pressed her lips together, blinking away the moisture that was building in her eyes before she attempted to speak again.

“So then, when you gave it so much thought, I suppose you came up with no possible reason why you might care to feel...more deeply?”

She could have sworn she heard him gulp in the pause before his reply.

“There’s nothing I want to feel.”

Molly shut her eyes, fighting the sudden urge to toss her phone clear across the room. Confusion, pain, and rage came to a boiling point inside her, spilling out and running hot down her cheeks.

“Please, Molly…” He sounded tired now. “Please say you’ll do it.”

She considered hanging up on him at that moment. Just setting the phone down and walking away from his childish and hurtful request. He was essentially throwing a gift back in her face, not appreciating the weight and value in it. And clearly not appreciating the feeling behind it. It made her want to hang up or refuse. And yet…

Perhaps this was her way out. Her own ticket to “not feeling.” If this was what he really wanted, then perhaps it would set her free as well. If this was the closure he wanted, then it would have to serve as her closure as well. If ever there was an opportunity to wash her hands of Sherlock Holmes, this was it.

“Molly, please.”

She decided to take it.

“Ok,” she breathed out, and she heard him release a sigh. “Meet me at Bart’s, after hours tomorrow. I dunno how long it’ll take so you might want to have someone come along for- Sherlock?”

Molly pulled the phone from her ear, seeing on the screen that the call had ended. Just like that. 

She let out a soft little huff of disgust as she shook her head and set her phone back on the counter. Apparently he’d gotten the answer he wanted, and that was all he cared to take the time for. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised, given the nature of the request.

Deep down though, she really was surprised. As she swiped any remaining salty moisture away from her eyes she couldn’t help but feel blindsided that he’d dare to go this far, to be so remarkably cold and heartless. It occurred to her that the emotional seeds she’d planted years ago hadn’t in fact grown as successfully as she’d thought. Maybe he’d never felt as much as she sometimes imagined and it might as well all be wiped clean anyway. 

Molly wondered if it would be terribly unhealthy to fondly remember the times when it all felt so real. The look in his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as she said something he seemed to think clever, his touch, his surprising kiss that one magnificent time…

Unhealthy or not, she suspected she had little choice in the matter. Sherlock Holmes was programmed in her mind and heart far more intricately and securely than any cybernetic system could ever duplicate. There was no tidy little circuit board to tinker with in her brain to simply shut the memories off. No switch to flip, no wires to cut. The Sherlock she’d come to love would likely live there always. 

With a shaky sigh she finally turned and walked over to the sink, running the water to begin some washing while glancing out her window at the city street. Funny, she thought to herself...she could have sworn that was Tom crossing to the other side of the street and disappearing around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but it seemed the right place to end it. And besides, I’d already made you guys wait long enough! Bless all you readers still hanging on. :) Likely only a couple more chapters to go in this fic that refuses to die lol, so hopefully I’ll be back soon!   
> Thanks to Lexie once again! Xoxo


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well thank goodness I managed to post another update before May was over. That means technically there was less than a month since my last one lol! Anyway...this is kind of the Eurus chapter. Idk what else to say to set it up, but that’s probably not necessary anyway, so just dive right in!

Sherlock fell, his knees colliding painfully with the ground at his sister’s words. But he felt it for only a moment, as the dominant pain coursing through his body was anything but physical. 

His widened and blurring eyes went to the screen again, watching as Tom hugged the woman he was meeting and proceeded with her inside the pub; completely unaware and  _ wholly unconnected _ to what had just occurred regarding Molly Hooper. The video feed displaying her had disappeared from Sherlock’s view almost the moment she’d fully agreed to his request. 

“Why would I be so clumsy?” Eurus questioned rhetorically. “Do you really believe that Molly Hooper, a specialist in the field of cybernetics and androids could be fooled into believing that the machine she was sharing a life with was a normal man, made of flesh and blood?” 

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, desperately wishing to close off the world around him along with the frustrating truth he’d just learned. And the truth was that he’d just hurt Molly to an immeasurable degree...for nothing. 

He finally rose, slowly squaring his shoulders, trying to remind himself that there was nothing else he could do now. No way to erase or make up for what he’d already said. Except of course, if he were to make it out of this mess alive. 

“That was a rather interesting experiment wasn’t it? I’d call it...telling, in fact,” Eurus commented thoughtfully. “But this is hardly your biggest challenge for the day. You’ll need to pull yourself together for the  _ real _ game.”

“John,” Sherlock murmured with a sigh. He couldn’t let his friend down, couldn’t let the pain he’d already experienced ruin his ability to do what he’d ultimately come to do. 

“We used to play so many games when we were children,” Eurus said. “But I think it’s only right that this is the one we play again today…hide and seek. Someone is lost and in danger in this house, you see. You’ll need to find them, Sherlock. Don’t lose...not like last time. What do you say? Are you ready?”

He felt a chill run down his spine but there was no time for fear now. He nodded in agreement.  

“In that case, perhaps you’d like to speak to John Watson now.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, a little cubby opened up on the wall, presenting an earpiece for Sherlock, which he instantly grabbed and switched on.

“Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?”

“John! John, I’m here in the house! Don’t worry, it’s all going to be fine!” Sherlock felt as much in need of the reassurance as John likely was and tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. “Where are you?”

“I’m standing up but I can barely move around.” John’s breathing was rapid. “I’m in something...no bigger than a broom closet. It’s dark, too dark to see anything. Are Mary and Rosie ok?”

“They’re fine, John, don’t worry! Can you tell me anything else? What do the walls feel like? Can you smell anything?”

“Do feel free to move about the house, Sherlock,” Eurus cut in. “You’re not really seeking yet, are you?”

“It feels like, I dunno, regular walls I think. I can feel a door but the handle won’t budge.” He paused a moment. “Oh God.”

“What? What is it?”

“Sherlock, I think...I think I smell smoke.”

Panic instantly coursed through Sherlock’s veins and he began to make his way through the house the way he’d already come. She was right, he needed to begin physically searching the house, and fast. Eurus really was making him play the very same game as he had on the day Victor Trevor had died. 

“John, can you still hear me?” Sherlock questioned as he rushed back out to the entryway and down one of the adjoining hallways.

“Yeah, yeah you sound the same. Where are you?”

“I’m in the same house as you, I just have to find you.” He did the best he could to sound completely calm and confident.

“Sherlock, I definitely smell smoke now. It’s getting stronger.” John coughed a bit. “And I think I see a bit of flicking glow through the bottom of this door. I can’t get fully down on the floor, but I’m crouching as low as I can.”

Sherlock began rushing into each room in the hallway and looking around while desperately sniffing to detect whether he was getting closer to the fire.

“Can you still feel the door handle?”

John hissed in pain. “It’s hot now!”

That was exactly what Sherlock didn’t want to hear. He’d barely begun to search the house and John was likely mere minutes from the danger of passing out.

“Sherlock, if you can’t find me-“

“Shut up, John, I’ll be there soon!” He rushed back out to the entryway and hurried up the staircase to the second floor, carefully as he could.

“No, Sherlock, you need to hear this! Just please make sure Mary and Rosie are ok! Promise me!”

“You’ll do that yourself,” Sherlock insisted, rushing through as much of the upstairs as he could reach, avoiding any areas where the floor was too badly damaged by the last fire.

He paused a moment, breathing heavily as he listened and sniffed the air for the hundredth time. Nothing. How was it possible that there could be  _ nothing _ ? His childhood home wasn’t small, but still, something wasn’t adding up.

“Sherlock? You still there?”

“John, you coughed a moment ago. Are your lungs burning?”

John paused. “They’re uh...no I suppose they’re not burning. I can smell the smoke though. Maybe it hasn’t fully gotten in here yet. I dunno, but the door handle is still hot.”

Sherlock’s gaze narrowed. He quickly checked the doors he could reach on the second floor as he considered a number of possibilities, reassuring John that he was looking as he did. Once he’d done that, he went back downstairs to where he’d first seen Eurus.

“Eurus,” Sherlock called out. “I’ll need another clue since I seem to be in danger of running out of time.”

Sure enough, the screen flickered into view, showing his sister once again, sitting in what seemed a pretty empty space with a blank wall behind her.

“Sherlock, you know how the game works...no clues. You have to follow the rules!”

“I am,” he agreed calmly, his eyes carefully scanning his sister and the limited surroundings he could see. “I just don’t want to lose this time, like you said. We don’t want that.”

“Mycroft always fancied himself to be smarter than you,” she said with a suddenly far off look in her eyes. “But I don’t think so.” 

Sherlock zoomed his focus in as close as possible to an area of the wall behind her...and then he saw it.

“I hope to prove you right today,” Sherlock said, trying not to smile and give himself away as the pieces started to fall into place and vivid memories began to play in his mind uncontrollably. “Let’s finish the game now, shall we?”

Eurus smiled ever so slightly, and the display went away. 

Sherlock instantly went for the stairs again. “John? You still there?” 

“Sherlock, what’s going on? Do you think you’re close?”

“I might not be.”

“Wh-what?” Panic understandably mounted in John’s tone. 

“Stay calm and give me some more time, John,” Sherlock explained, standing in the second floor hallway and trying to plan how he was to get to the third floor despite the structural damage. “You’ll be alright.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident!”

He really wasn’t, but he also knew this was his only option. It was the best chance at all of them coming out of this unscathed. At least now he had a better handle on what the game’s objective truly was. Really, he should have seen it instantly.

Sherlock had to hug the wall, sticking to the most silent areas of the flooring that he could in order to reach the smaller staircase up to the third floor. And that staircase turned out to be even more treacherous. 

Gingerly making his way to the top, he was instantly horrified at the state of that third floor. The fact that he could look down and see some of the second floor and look up to see bits of sky wasn’t comforting. But he knew where he needed to go, and this was the only way.

The charred door halfway down that familiar hallway was partly open when he slid his feet carefully to the threshold, nothing hidden or blocked off. It wasn’t meant to be, he supposed. She wanted him to find it, after all.

“Eurus?”

The head shrouded in dark waves turned at the sound of his voice. But it was almost as if she didn’t fully see him yet.

“I played the game,” Sherlock explained gently, approaching with caution as his eyes glimpsed the old piece of a picture frame on the wall behind her head. The one he’d managed to see in the video feed. 

“And I understand it now,” he went on. “But I think you should know that in a way, I always did understand.”

“You looked and looked.” She shook her head very slowly. “But not for the right person.”

Sherlock knelt down in front of her on the floor. “But that’s where you’re wrong. You see, I remember now. When I realized there was a fire, I looked and looked.” He reached out and gently covered her cool hand with his. “I was looking for  _ you _ .”

Her stony expression cracked just slightly.

“You’re my _little_ _sister_ ,” Sherlock stated firmly. “At any sign of danger my first thought was for your safety. Of course I intended to find Victor as well, but he was older and stronger and _you_ were my first priority. My error was simply in where I chose to look first...and then it was too late.”

She blinked, looking away and remaining silent. He could practically see the wheels turning within her mind. The same sort of whirring that he was so accustomed to. She knew the feeling too.

He ventured to give her hand a little squeeze. 

“Eurus, I know you’re afraid and likely have been for some time. But I cared for you then, and today I care for you still.  _ I found you. _ I’m your brother, and that hasn’t changed.” His gaze faltered for a just a moment, remembering  _ why _ he was the same person he’d always been...remembering who gave that to him. “Please do the same for me now. Care for me enough to  _ help me. _ ”

Her eyes met his then, flickering with a bit of moisture in the dim light. Her chin quivered for just a split second, and then she nodded in agreement. Sherlock released the breath he’d been holding and gathered his sister into his arms in a combination of relief, gratitude, and empathy. 

Sherlock wanted to find John, yes, and was of course elated when Eurus took him to the window and pointed him in the direction of the woodshed behind the old Holmes estate. But really, his sister was just as great a priority. John was freed, and relatively quickly. But for Eurus, safety and freedom were wishes far more difficult to grant. Sherlock knew there was only so much to be done, and only so much he could give her. But he vowed that day to do all in his power to ensure that the rest of her days were spent far more peacefully than they had been thus far. 

And most importantly, that she’d never again have to feel alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. One problem settled! I imagine that most of you are a little more interested in the resolution of another little problem lol. Next chapter, which will likely be the last, is going to FINALLY bring back sherlolly interactions! Ugh, what’s wrong with me, writing a fic with so little of that?! XD But, I hope you enjoyed this one and that the action stuff read ok, since that’s not my fave kind of writing. Thanks again to Lexie for beta reading, and to all of you for being supportive and patient. ;)


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